Page 42
Story: A Curse of Stars and Storms (The Choosing Chronicles #3)
The Darkest Night
“ W e have to check it.” Jayson stared into the open doorway, his voice resigned but brooking no room for discussion.
Isobel cursed under her breath, and Nikhail understood where she was coming from. He didn’t like this one bit. His skin crawled, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and a warning thrum filled his veins.
Be careful, the wind muttered.
That wouldn’t be a problem. Nikhail had felt jumpy ever since they walked into the library.
Jayson walked through the door first, armed with a flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other.
Isobel followed, and after sending a text to Commander Root, letting him know what they found, Nikhail took up the rear.
He crossed the threshold from the library into the stone passage, and old magic swept over his skin.
He shivered, recognizing the kiss of ancient wards.
It’s probably nothing, Nikhail reasoned with himself as he sent his magic in front of their group to silence their footsteps. The wards are probably a remnant of the past, left by the vampires before they departed.
In theory, it made sense that this place would be warded. In reality, it felt like a bad omen. Nikhail shuddered, his stomach churning.
The passage was darker than the rest of the castle, and the air was thick. Foreboding, even. The passage wasn’t in the same condition as the rest of the castle.
Crumbling stones, cracked mortar, and jagged rocks jutted out, doing their best to trip them. There was little room to move, and Nikhail’s shoulders brushed against the walls.
Down, down, down they went. The air thickened until every step felt like trudging through mud. Nikhail kept his senses extended, listening to the wind, but no sound reached his ears. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Off.
The passage never widened, and the air chilled as they continued their descent. Twice, they stopped to send updates to the rest of the team. Both times, no one spoke.
The darkness seemed all-consuming, thick and heavy and utterly unnatural. Every minute felt longer than the last. Nikhail traced a groove in the wall, his fingers finding another above it. A short while later, there was a third gouge below the other two.
His fingers fit almost perfectly in them, almost as if they’d been created by someone running in terror.
The longer they spent in the tunnels, the more questions he had about this place. Who had built it, and what was its intended purpose? It didn’t seem like one that had been used to transport goods, nor did it appear to be a servant’s passage. It was old—perhaps even older than the King of Darkness.
Time seemed to play games with them in the murky blackness. They couldn’t have been in the passage for all that long since they were still in the castle, but it felt like hours had passed before a glimmer of violet light appeared ahead of them.
Under normal circumstances, a break in the shadows would be cause for celebration, but something about the light had Nikhail’s stomach twisting.
The stairs ended, the hallway grew tighter, and the violet glow grew steadily brighter. And then, almost as if it had appeared out of nowhere, the passage opened up into a large room.
The change in scenery was so sudden that they stood in the doorway for a moment and stared at their discovery.
Two wooden tables, which could each easily seat a dozen men, were pushed together in the middle of the space.
Half a dozen chairs were spread throughout the room, and stacks of paper were scattered on every surface.
An empty mug sat next to a carafe, and a cream-colored woman’s cardigan was folded over the back of a chair.
There wasn’t a single speck of dust.
Nikhail stepped into the room, his eyes adjusting to the violet sheen covering the papers. Light Elf orbs rested in iron sconces on the walls, burning brightly and casting their iridescent illumination through the room.
His heart was booming so loudly, he was surprised no one else could hear it. There was a click as he released the safety of his gun, and he met Jayson’s gaze.
“You see that?” he mouthed, gesturing towards the lights.
The Death Elf nodded grimly, pulling crimson ribbons of magic from his palms. Nikhail drew on more of his power, the light confirming a suspicion he’d had since they started down the stairs.
Castle Sanguis wasn’t as abandoned as it appeared to be .
Light Elf orbs had been the vampires’ preferred form of lighting for as long as they had lived in the north.
Fire was deadly to their kind, and when the castle was occupied, it would’ve been filled with the violet globes.
But Light Elf magic didn’t run indefinitely.
Like the wick of a candle, the orbs ran out and had to be relit.
Someone had been here recently.
Nikhail reached this bone-chilling conclusion a heartbeat before the room darkened. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and the air cooled.
Castle Sanguis had never been warm, but now it felt as though they’d been transported to the Black Sea and dumped in its inky, icy waters.
Jayson shouted a series of commands, but it was too late.
A blanket of darkness fell, smothering the light as if it had never existed.
A sharp, ominous cackle came from behind him, robbing his lungs of breath. Wings snapped out on his right.
“I’m sending a distress call!” Jayson yelled. “How many, Galebringer?”
Releasing the magic he’d gathered in his palm, Nikhail sent it out in a wave. He turned, facing the darkness as the wind returned to him, whispering in his ear.
“Seven!” he shouted, gathering more magic in his palm and swapping his gun for one of the stakes strapped to his chest. “Seven vampires.” As if the shadows weren’t enough confirmation, he could tell by their slow heartbeats. “Aim for the heart or remove their heads, nothing less will kill them?—”
A blow landed in his middle, and his last words were little more than gasps. The powerful punch sent him flying, and he tightened his grip on the stake as he slammed into the wall. Stones crumbled, dust falling on him .
There was no time for pain.
Groaning, he clambered to his feet and sent out a wave of powerful magic towards his shadowy attacker.
All around him, the sounds of a brutal fight filled the air. Shouts. The flapping of wings. A gunshot. A roar. An agonized scream.
Death Elf magic sliced through the darkness. The sharp red ribbons illuminated the scene for a moment. The vampires were dressed in black, but the light disappeared before Nikhail could see their faces.
He sent out wave after wave of his magic, letting the wind guide his movements.
Ahead of you, said the wind in its ancient voice. Move .
He obeyed without thought, ducking. His sleeve fluttered as a vampire raced by.
Behind you .
Nikhail turned and kicked, a grunt confirming that his foot had made purchase. There was no time to think about what was happening, no time to panic. The vampires were strong opponents, and they had them outnumbered.
Hurry, to your left , the wind hissed.
He slammed his stake down, and it sank into flesh. The vampire cried out, grabbing his shoulder and wrenching it back.
White-hot pain flashed through Nikhail, and he roared. Withdrawing the stake, he twisted, trying to shake the creature of the night free.
The vampire laughed, the sound all cruelty and hatred and anger. Horror stories told around campfires held more warmth than the vampire’s mirth. They stole the stake from Nikhail’s grip and threw it away. It landed with a clatter.
A snarl filled the air. Fangs brushed against Nikhail’s neck.
Time slowed as fear as cold as an arctic gale swept through him. Even the wind’s comforting whisper seemed far away.
The vampire’s fangs pressed against his throat. Seeking. Taunting. Preparing to kill.
No.
No, no, fucking no .
He couldn’t die now. Not while on a mission, not without spending more time with River. For fuck’s sake, he hadn’t even made her his yet. This could not be how it all ended.
“I’ve never tasted an air fae,” the vampire hissed, twisting Nikhail’s arm until it popped out of its socket. Fire raced through him, but he bit his tongue, refusing to let the vampire hear his pain. “Ithiar has sent us three delicious gifts.”
The vampire dragged Nikhail back, their fangs still pressed against his neck. He struggled to free himself, kicking and punching and doing everything he could to get away.
Isobel and Jayson were shouting nearby, the fight still underway in the darkness.
Nikhail needed to get free and help them, but creatures of the night were considered one of the most powerful in the Republic for a reason.
No matter what he did, it wasn’t enough. As if proving that point, the vampire released their fangs long enough to slam Nikhail into the ground with all their strength.
Fire ran up his injured arm. Burning, burning, burning.
This time, he couldn’t hold back his scream. He reached for his magic, but it was muted beneath the flare of pain.
The vampire leaped on top of him, straddling his chest and arms, pinning them at his side.
Move ! the wind screamed.
But try as he might, Nikhail couldn’t obey. The vampire was immovable, their weight infused with strength that came from their gods. No matter how he struggled, he couldn’t shake them free.
This could not be happening. This could not be how his life ended.
Even though the darkness was absolute, Nikhail could feel the vampire staring at him. Deciding where to bite him.
Oh, gods.
Nikhail had never been one to spend hours in worship. After his father left, he’d been too busy taking care of his mother and sisters to spend much time thinking about the deities. As an adult, he’d found much better use of his time doing work that actually mattered.
But as he lay there, with the vampire’s cold breath fanning across his cheek, Nikhail called out to the old fae gods—the ones that River worshipped.
He didn’t plead for his life, didn’t ask them to save him.
Instead, he begged them to look after River. Asked them to look after her and be there for her after he died.
The vampire gripped his head painfully, forcing his neck to the side and exposing his tendons to the cold air.
Death drew near, brushing its arms against Nikhail. He refused to go willingly. Not now. Not when it meant giving River up.
“No,” he growled, fighting back with renewed passion. He used every bit of strength he possessed, bucking against the vampire, trying to move his good arm.
He had too much to live for, too many reasons to keep going.
A roar came from somewhere else in the room, accompanied by a flurry of red Death Elf magic. The flash of light lit up the darkness, and the vampire holding Nikhail down snarled.
It was a momentary distraction, but it was what he needed. Nikhail gathered as much of his magic as he could through the pain and threw it at the vampire. A powerful gust of wind slammed into the creature of the night, and its weight shifted.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
Even though fire raced through his dislocated arm, even though every damn movement felt like he was being stabbed with hot pokers, he managed to get his fingers to his chest. His injury was severe, and his arm had a heartbeat of its own, but he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t give up.
The vampire snapped their fangs.
Nikhail sent another wave of magic to keep the creature back. His power was waning; his well was running dry.
Ignoring the pain—because what was pain in the face of never seeing River again—he touched the second stake strapped to his chest.
His attacker lunged. Their fangs sank into his neck, and Nikhail screamed. There was no pleasure here, no relief. Just pure agony that seemed to stretch on forever, bringing him closer to death’s embrace.
It was now or never.
With a warrior’s cry, Nikhail pulled out his remaining stake and shoved it into the vampire’s chest. It sank through flesh and bone, landing squarely in the vampire’s heart.
One moment, the creature was drawing his blood.
The next, they were gasping above him, their fangs no longer in his neck. A drawn-out, eerie wail filled the air.
Although it took far too much effort—gods, he hadn’t been in this much pain in a long, long time—Nikhail flipped them. He straddled the vampire, pressing down on the stake with his good hand and shoving the instrument of death deeper into the creature’s heart.
Time, which had slowed earlier, resumed its brutal pace .
Another cry came from the other side of the room. A groan.
Wings flapped, and another vampire came towards Nikhail. This time, he wouldn’t let them touch him.
He yanked the stake out of his now-dead attacker and turned around, begging the wind to speak to him once more. His magic was draining rapidly, his blood loss making matters worse, but he just needed to hold on long enough to survive this fight.
Ahead of you , came the faint, barely there murmur.
Nikhail charged. Hands brushed his neck, and the vampire snarled. The thump-thump of his opponent’s heart was a beacon directing his movements.
The moment they were close enough, he slammed the stake into their heart.
He was an inch off, and gods, the creature of the night fought back. The vampire struggled and screamed and clawed at Nikhail, raking their nails down his face.
He yelled, pulling out the stake and plunging it back into their chest.
This time, death won. The creature of the night fell, its body hitting the floor with a resounding thud . At the same moment, the shadows vanished.
Light returned to the room, and Nikhail’s eyes widened.
Table of Contents
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- Page 42 (Reading here)
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