Page 17 of This Vicious Dream (Kingdom of Death #1)

Calysian

Remains are scattered throughout the small clearing, organs and viscera strewn next to boots and cooking supplies.

“Whatever did this…it’s not the same predator that attacked the last regiment.”

“No.” That predator left only bones. “I can sense the grimoire close by.”

Madinia gives me a stiff nod. “We should leave the horses. They’ll make too much noise. But…not here.”

We find a clearing near another small pool of water, and I gratefully refill my flask, watching as Madinia does the same before urging her mare to drink. She’s unhappy at the thought of leaving the horses—truthfully, I am too. But bringing them close to Kyldare would be much more dangerous. He strikes me as the kind of man who would gleefully cut down both of our horses.

Besides, I can’t believe the baby seer would have told us to bring the horses if they were going to end up dead in this place. I felt no sense of malice from her.

No, that malice had come from her aunt.

Madinia nuzzles her mare’s face, her hand shaking as she gives her a final stroke.

It’s a tiny flicker of vulnerability, and I ruthlessly suppress the urge to pull her into my arms. I’m ignoring all of my instincts with this woman, forcing myself to allow her to come to me, time after time, as if she’s a wild animal I’m trying not to spook.

Leaving the horses, we make our way toward the grimoire. I can sense Madinia’s wariness, and she glances at me continually, as if waiting for me to suddenly strike her down.

Clenching my teeth, I allow it. For now.

Just minutes later, the insects fall quiet once more—a sharp, unnatural stillness coiling around us. Like a warning. Voices drift through the humid air, low and tense. I meet Madinia’s eyes, and she gives me a grim nod. Kyldare and his soldiers are lying in wait just around the bend.

My grimoire is so close, urging me to approach.

Madinia brushes by me, and I catch her arm. “I want you to wait here.”

She gives me that haughty look that makes me crazed.

I can’t help it. I take her mouth, swallowing her gasp.

“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” I mutter. “There’s no need for you to come.”

“There is. I can’t tell you why, but I know I have to go with you.”

I can tell by the stubborn jut of her jaw and the hard glint in her eyes that she won’t be dissuaded from this. And truthfully, I’m torn between warring impulses. As much as I want to leave her behind, I also want her where I can see her.

“Fine. But you do exactly as I say.”

Her mouth curves.

Shaking my head, I release her. “You make me insane, woman.”

Jerking my head, I gesture for her to follow me away from the bend and into a thicket of trees. The mud swallows our boots, making each step a long, exhausting process. But finally, we’re able to crouch behind a twisted tree as we survey the clearing.

I can feel my grimoire, lodged within a tree so impossibly vast, nothing natural could have caused such a growth. When I glance at Madinia, she winces.

“I hid the grimoire in the trunk of that tree. Parts of it had rotted away. But…the tree didn’t look like this. I…I didn’t realize the grimoire would…alter it.”

There’s no sign of rot now. The power in the grimoire has leached into the tree, and it stands huge and healthy, looming high above our heads. Twisted roots are sprawled across the waterlogged ground, some of them as thick as a man’s thigh.

Kyldare stands in the mud, flanked by his men as the swamp water laps at their boots. Even from here, his satisfied smirk is evident.

I count ten soldiers around him, weapons ready, but their faces are twisted with unease, and they continually glance over their shoulders, clearly spooked. They’ve felt the oppressive weight of the swamp as they’ve traveled this far. And they can’t have missed the remains of the other regiments.

Madinia’s breaths are shallow, her eyes locked on Kyldare and his soldiers. Her face is pale, but her eyes glitter with blue fire.

The witch steps close to the tree, hovering her hand near the bark. A vivid green light surrounds her hand, her power saturating the air between them and us.

Oh, she’s powerful.

But her shoulders sag, and she wipes sweat from her brow, stepping back to survey the tree.

“Do not stop,” Kyldare barks. “Break it.”

Madinia leans close. “You need to get to the grimoire.” Her voice is a bare whisper, and the feel of her warm breath on my neck makes me heavy lidded.

I reach for her, and she gives me an icy look. “Focus.”

My lips curve, and her eyes darken. Ah. I’m not the only one remembering the feel of her thighs on my shoulders.

She casts me a wary look but returns her attention to the scene in front of us.

Kyldare’s witch paces in front of the tree, hands twisting as she attempts her magic. Deep lines are etched in her face, her blonde hair now gray in places.

Satisfaction burns through me. Holding the ward against my power required years of her life. Years she will be hoping to reclaim with my grimoire.

But she won’t.

“We’ll split them,” Madinia murmurs. “I’ll draw their attention to the left, toward the water. You circle behind, get close to the tree. Use the distraction to take out the witch.”

Let this woman play bait? “No.” My refusal is instant, and Madinia’s expression tightens. With a wave of her hand, she waits for me to expand. To provide reasoning.

I remain silent. If I choose not to allow her to do such a thing, she will comply. I am a god.

Slowly, Madinia leans close, her voice colder than I’ve ever heard it. “If you think temporary access to my body means you now have the right to determine my actions, you are so very, very wrong,” she whispers. “I will incapacitate you and leave you here before I’ll allow you to give me orders.”

My hands tighten on her shoulders, and I lean close. Madinia shifts, and some of the fury drains from her expression.

“The grimoire is calling you.”

“Yes.” I grit out.

“Then think ,” she hisses. “If you can come up with a better plan, I’m willing to hear it.”

I…can’t. Madinia can’t kill the witch. Not alone.

And without access to more of my power, I can’t kill both the soldiers and the witch in one blow.

“You have a plan to get to the grimoire.”

She nods.

“Fine. I will allow this.”

Angling her head, she gives me a long, cool look. I know her well enough to know what that look means.

Fiercely independent Madinia is mentally barring me from her bed. She has decided I’m too much of a threat to the freedom she holds closer than any lover.

I nip at her ear. “Keep thinking such thoughts. I’ll merely fuck them out of you.”

She stiffens, but I’m already moving. “Go.”

Madinia

Calysian melts away to my left, his body moving seamlessly, silently through the mud and muck. The canopy above our head lets in only fractured, dim light, while the haze of humidity and thick tangle of roots and trees should help us stay hidden.

Since I’m nowhere near as graceful as Calysian I’m forced to move much slower.

My lungs strain for each breath, my mouth so dry I’m almost tempted to rinse it with swamp water. My sweat has turned ice-cold, and despite the suffocating humidity, I’m shivering as I slowly inch toward the swamp.

No, I didn’t tell Calysian about this part of my plan. Because the brute would have found a way to stop me.

Kyldare is still standing at the edge of the swamp with most of his men, his gaze locked on Bridin as she works desperately to get to the grimoire.

Today, Kyldare looks like he has climbed from the depths of the swamp himself. His face is unnaturally flushed, his eyes glittering as he stares possessively at the tree.

It’s the same look he would give me each time I was chained to the walls of that tower.

My stomach roils. I know Kyldare. And Vicana made a mistake sending him after the grimoire. He’s weak—not physically, but inside, where it counts. Weak men always believe they can hide their weakness by accumulating power. They can’t help themselves.

Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, I remove my boots, leaving them next to the trunk of a warped tree, along with my sword. Slowly, I slip into the swamp, the water curling around my ankles, my thighs, my waist.

I pull the knife at my hip, my hand aching as I clench the hilt. The swamp swallows everything—sound, light—even natural instinct. Thick roots and mangroves obscure my path. They help hide me, but they make it almost impossible for me to map out a clear path toward the soldiers.

I sink deeper, the water rising to my ribs. I ruthlessly suppress the urge to slide right out of the swamp and back onto land.

Kyldare’s men shift uneasily, casting sidelong glances at the water, the tree, the thick branches above our heads. I crouch lower, letting the reeds close around me like a shield. My breaths are shallow, my heart slamming into my ribs. I have two options: Circle through the deeper water to my right, or duck under the cover of the low hanging branches closer to the soldiers.

The sickly green light is still spilling across the clearing. Bridin paces, her hands twitching. The glow flares brighter, and my heart stops. Her laugh rings out, sharp and triumphant.

Her laugh turns to a choked scream, and she drops to her knees, clutching at her chest.

Calysian.

“They’re here!” Kyldare roars.

The soldiers instinctively recoil from Calysian. Likely, they’ve heard what he can do. They back toward the swamp, and the water laps hungrily at their boots.

Still, I wait.

And wait.

My muscles scream from the strain, my chest aching for more air.

There.

The long, sinewy form has just rounded the bend, entering this part of the swamp. It’s far enough way that my plan has a chance of working—but it will be breathtakingly close. Already, the serpent is slicing through the water, shockingly fast. It moves like a shadow, so fast it’s almost a blur, its sleek, muscular body undulating beneath the surface.

As expected, the creature couldn’t resist.

Not after hunting me and Calysian for days.

Now I just have to time this perfectly.

Breathless and trembling, I count down in my head, ruthlessly suppressing the need to move.

Now.

Ducking my head, I dive into the water, beneath the tree branch. Cold weight presses against my skin, and panic claws at me.

I can’t see anything. Not my hands, not the roots beneath me, not even the faintest shimmer of light.

I’m going to die, here in this swamp.

No. I know where the shore is.

Yes, you know where it is. Now fucking swim.

I strike out, my movements clumsy, desperate. The swamp churns around me, and I make it six strokes before I feel it. That same cold, primal magic.

The serpent has turned. And it’s aiming directly for me.

I veer to the side, kicking hard, my lungs burning. The creature closes in.

Go, go, go.

Lifting my head, I gasp for air, and an arrow slices toward me, so close I can feel the tiny breeze it creates.

“Don’t kill her!” Kyldare roars.

My blood burns hot, and I channel my rage, diving again. Even if he gets the grimoire, Kyldare will never let me go. No, he’ll make me pay for escaping him. And he’ll enjoy it.

Murky water rushes over my head as I kick blindly for the shore, a sob clawing up my throat at the feel of solid ground. Surging forward, I claw my way onto the bank. Mud clings to my skin, reeds tangle around my legs, but I crawl forward.

Don’t stop.

I need to put as much distance between myself and the water as possible.

A deep ripple surges behind me, and the serpent breaks the surface of the water, just footspans from my previous position, right next to the shore. My heart slams into my ribs and I scramble for firmer ground.

The creature is easily thirty footspans long, its sinewy body covered in dark, glistening scales. Its blunt, wide head is framed by a ridge of bony, spiked protrusions that curve backward, almost like a crown.

Scanning the chaos with eerie intelligence, the serpent blinks, and I choke on the horror of it.

Slitted pupils are surrounded by a pale glow that fixes on the nearest soldier. The idiot is standing too close to the shore.

The soldier turns to run, but the serpent opens its maw, revealing a single row of jagged teeth. It strikes, plucking him off the shore and dragging him under in an explosion of water and foam.

The screams begin.

Even Kyldare stumbles back, his face twisting in disbelief as the serpent lashes out, its tail whipping through the air and catching another soldier, slamming him into the water.

I cast a single, desperate glance toward the tree where Calysian stands. His eyes burn with pure, unrelenting rage.

Rage, and terror.

“Move!” he roars.

I stagger to my feet, mud slick beneath me. My lungs heave, and I reach deep for my power, aiming at the soldier furthest from the swamp.

The waterlogged air makes my power sluggish. But my fire startles him, and he stumbles towards the others, who bolt from the flames.

Toward the swamp. And the serpent.

Even Kyldare is forced to run as the serpent’s body coils, striking out at the soldier closest to him.

The chaos is exactly what we needed, and yet—even with the knowledge of what those soldiers would do to me—I can’t help but shudder at the thought of their watery demise. All I can hear is the sound of splashing water and panicked screams.

I sprint for the tree, and Calysian glowers at me, reaching out to slam his hand into the trunk.

“You’re welcome,” I snap.

“Don’t push me.” His voice is mild, but fury lingers in his eyes.

I’d thought the tree would fight him as it fought Bridin. But the trunk peels back, the tree sacrificing itself as it strips layer after layer of bark, until the grimoire is exposed.

So much trouble for such a small, ordinary-looking book.

Calysian sucks in a breath, and it’s as if the grimoire is all that exists in the world as he reaches for it, his entire body tense.

“No!” Kyldare screams, but it’s too late.

The moment Calysian touches the cover, the grimoire disappears. Along with the sun.

BOOM

Power explodes from Calysian, and I drop to my knees, dizzy. The sun reappears, and when he turns, he looks larger, his eyes distant and cold once more. His lips twist into a cruel smile.

I suck in a breath as he surveys the soldiers.

Calysian is gone.

This is Calpharos.

My lungs turn to stone. I swore I wouldn’t let this happen. I promised myself I would keep him here.

“Calysian,” I say.

He ignores me, his eyes narrowing on the witch at his feet. He kicks her onto her back, and her eyes flutter open.

“You thought to take from me,” he purrs. “Now I’ll take from you.”

“Calysian!”

“Silence,” he hisses, and when he finally looks at me, I freeze, my instincts warning me to be small and quiet. To slowly slink away and hope the predator in front of me ceases to notice my existence.

But it’s too late for that. “You were the one who hid this from me.” His voice is a low croon, and I shudder beneath the weight of it. “You thought to deny me what is mine.”

“You swore you wouldn’t do this,” I snap.

A hint of surprise flashes across his face. “You dare speak to me in such a tone?”

Something wrenches in my chest. Something that feels almost like…betrayal.

And yet I’m the one in the wrong here. This god is only revealing who he truly is. I’m the one who somehow thought I could control him. I’m the one who thought he would stay human.

For me.

Stupid. Gods, I’m so stupid.

Bridin writhes, attempting to make it to her stomach. Calpharos takes a step closer to her.

An arrow slices through the air, aimed at the dark god’s head, and he merely raises a hand, his obsidian shield jumping into place around his body. The arrow drops to the ground, immediately followed by three more.

Two soldiers remain, far enough from the swamp that the serpent can’t reach them. Kyldare is half hidden behind a tree, and yet I can hear his hateful voice ordering them to fire.

Calpharos ignores them as each arrow they aim at him continues to fall uselessly to the ground. His head tilts, his eyes turning blurred, unfocused. It’s as if he’s frozen—lost somewhere I can’t reach.

More arrows hit his shield, and he smiles, his eyes sharpening. “Try harder,” he purrs. Slowly, he turns his head, focusing on Bridin.

The witch freezes, her eyes meeting mine. They’re the pale, faded eyes of an elderly woman who has lived for decades more than she truly will. “Please,” she croaks.

A flash of triumph rushes through me. “Remember that time you trapped me within my own body?”

Calpharos ignores us, but his hand is suddenly wreathed in dark smoke and he looms over Bridin. There’s nothing human in his eyes. Nothing remotely close to the man I took to bed.

I’m going to have to try to kill him. And he’ll probably kill me.

Agony erupts in my chest, hot and horrifying. It blazes through my body, until the only sound I can make is a choked moan. I stare uncomprehendingly at the arrow lodged in my chest.

Kyldare’s voice winds through the space between us.

“If I can’t have your life, I’ll gladly take your death. Think of me as you die choking on your own blood.”