Sūnder (Darksoul Book 1) Read online

  “That isn’t how it works.” From Gabe’s right came a new group, peeling away from the shadows as if they were casting off cloaks. He recognized Pip and a few people from the neighborhood his grandmother used to live in, but the others he’d never seen before.

  “Humans, you need to walk away,” Tālia sneered. “This is not a fight you want to take sides in.”

  The park plant life was abuzz with excited whispers of “Guardians” and “Green Sentinels” and “Old Ones”. Gabe held his breath. Were these the people who’d fled from E’drijān, from Slorèx? If they were, they’d learned to disguise themselves well because they didn’t have the pointed ears or complexion of L’fÿns or dròw.

  “You’re the one who brought the battle to our new home, L’fÿn. We left your lot to your own devices, content to let the noble houses rot from the inside out, and you have. But now you come where you are not wanted. You cannot make us run this time. Leave now, shining one, and never come back.” The man who spoke strode to Gabe’s side.

  Even in the dark he could see a striking resemblance between himself and the stranger. Taller than Gabe by at least a foot, the dark stranger looked remarkably like Gabe’s father and grandmother. What the—? Did he have family he didn’t know about? Had he spent his life feeling abandoned and alone when a relative lived nearby? The sight threatened to rock Gabe’s foundations but he ruthlessly walled off the growing confusion. He couldn’t lose his focus. Not here. Not now. Sūnder needed him to stall the darkhunters, and he refused to let anything get in the way of that. Not even the possibility of family.

  “I shall not warn you again, human. Leave.” Though her arrogance stayed in place as she surveyed the area, measuring the number of her men against Gabe’s, Tālia shifted uneasily from foot to foot. Gabe let himself enjoy her uncertainty. He might be outnumbered but he would not step aside.

  “My name is not ‘human’, Keeper. I am Wÿn, and I am the youngest of the elders.” Wÿn made a tsking sound. “Your people have forgotten much, blaming the faeborn for the downfall of E’drijān that you yourselves wrought. Perhaps we should remind you of the truth, that it isn’t faeborn you need fear.” His eyes glinting in the night, Wÿn turned to Gabe. “Gabriel, the Ènts await your call.”

  What was Gabe supposed to do or ask for? He stood next to a stranger who claimed to be an elder and, instead of taking over, using his know-how to command the park’s trees, this Wÿn put everything in Gabe’s inexperienced hands. Didn’t Wÿn realize there was more at stake here than a simple skirmish? That they had to keep Tālia and her people from getting to Sūnder? Sūnder was ill and needed Gabe at his side, not out here standing against insane odds with nary a clue about what should be done.

  As if he read Gabe’s thoughts, Wÿn said in a challenging tone, “It isn’t about numbers but the will. Are you strong enough to command the woods?”

  The “Fuck You” was right there on the edge of Gabe’s tongue. Wÿn and those with him could crawl back into the hole they came out of. But Tālia screamed orders at her men and Gabe had no time to do anything other than send out the a frantic “Help us!” before he was forced to defend himself. The sickening sound of Ronan’s metal rods scraping along the edge of a darkhunter’s sword made his skin crawl.

  A familiar jurassic roar filled the night air and the L’fÿns rushing into the fight stumbled to a startled halt. Gabe didn’t give them time to regroup, yelling as he knocked out the darkhunter who had attacked him as well as the one immediately behind her. Too soon, the darkhunters snapped out of their confusion. Gabe found himself surround by the enemy as he battled his way to where he’d last seen Tālia. He would drag her to King Valiant by her hair if necessary, but her pursuit of Sūnder would end tonight.

  Gabe fought, not with Sūnder’s haunting grace and beauty but with a brutality he hadn’t known he possessed. He embraced the growling, snarling animal within him and struck with a ruthlessness that sickened his nurturing side. He fought with a sloppy, ugly savagery, crushing windpipes and landing blows calculated to immediately incapacitate his opponent. Surrounded and outnumbered, he thought he’d go down. Even when A’ymon barreled through, heads flying and blood spraying.

  Pip fought his way to Gabe’s side and stayed with him, alternately barking out encouragement and cussing Gabe for knowing better, dragging him up by his collar whenever he fell and shoving him back into the fray.

  Startled cries came from the outer edges of the fight, where towering shadows swayed and the strangely loud rustle of leaves joined the sounds of battle. The trees—the Ènts—were wading through the combatants, picking up his allies and holding them protectively in their branches while enemies were gruesomely stomped or flung away like broken dolls. By the time Gabe’s limbs became almost too heavy to raise the batons in defense, the Ènts were close enough for him to retreat behind their lines.

  “Knights! SilverHands! To the trees!” Gabe yelled, kicking an L’fÿn who stood over one of his downed knights in the head. Helping the Panthrÿn to his feet, not comfortable retreating if someone in his care couldn’t make it on their own, Gabe called for his people again.

  A’ymon shoved a knight and a silverhand toward the oncoming Ènts, and a couple others staggered past Gabe. He scanned the crowd to see if anyone had been left behind when three darkhunters took advantage of his distraction to converge upon him. One of the darkhunters screamed when a huge branch sent him flying. Gabe had barely firmed his stance to meet the other two head-on when his feet suddenly left the ground.

  Wooden limbs encircled Gabe, securing him and lifting him into the air. Held high, well out of danger, he could easily see how the Ènts had corralled the darkhunters. Every time they attempted to slink between the tree trunks they were thrown back into the circle. Standing in their very center, Tālia no longer looked beautiful and regal, the fury on her face only adding to her disarray.

  “Surrender your weapons! Get down on your knees and put your hands behind your head. There is no escape!” Gabe shouted between heaving breaths.

  One by one, the L’fÿns threw their weapons toward the perimeter of trees and fell to their knees, their expressions ranging from disbelief to shattered defeat. Tālia was the last to surrender, her mask of anger never ceasing.

  Static crackled in Gabe’s ear. “Prince Consort, I’ve returned with reinforcements. The trees won’t allow us through.”

  Gabe patted the limb holding him. “It’s okay, the Panthrÿns are friends. You can let me down now.” He didn’t know how the Ènts understood what he said, but the tree gently placed him on his feet. He wove through the trunks, following Paulo’s scent, desperately needing word of Sūnder.

  When he emerged, Paulo stood among a large contingent of knights bristling with weapons. They looked ready to hand out vengeance, the odor of their ill intent floating on the wind. Before he left to join Sūnder, Gabe would ensure no more blood was shed now that the darkhunters had surrendered.

  “Sūnder is stable, Gabe, but you need to go to him. There are bikes waiting to take you to the hospital. Once I contain the prisoners, airtransport will come to collect them, and I shall then join you.” As he spoke, Paulo manhandled him, not roughly but definitely thoroughly, looking for wounds. Gabe started to protest, then glanced down to see his white shirt, arms, and hands liberally splattered with blood. He made a mental note to change and wash up before Sūnder saw him. The last thing he wanted was to upset Sūnder. Paulo would report the battle and Sūnder would know the details soon enough; he didn’t need to see the proof beforehand.

  Gabe nodded, allowing Paulo to look him over because he didn’t know if he was hurt or not. A strange numbness cocooned him, though it cracked at the thought of Sūnder safe and well in the hospital, the burst of emotions so strong he couldn’t speak without breaking down and crying in relief. When Paulo grasped his fists, Gabe realized he still held the batons in a death grip. With a quick snap of his wrists, he retracted the batons down to palm-sized tubes before slipping them
into his pant pockets.

  When Gabe led the knights through the Ènts to where the prisoners were being held, A’ymon joined him, as did Pip and Wÿn. Gabe relayed Paulo’s report to A’ymon, ignoring Pip and Wÿn. Now that the battle was over and Tālia and her darkhunters were being collected, the burning anger Gabe felt toward the elders pushed to the fore. He couldn’t look at Pip without crushing disappointment, thinking of Ronan and his distress over losing his family just because Ronan had chosen a different, more proactive path. With great difficulty, he kept his opinions to himself. As much as he’d like to take Pip to the side, this moment was not the time to press the issue. His need to be with Sūnder trumped his anger, for now.

  After ensuring Paulo had everything in hand, Gabe beckoned to A’ymon and they left in search of the bikes. To his consternation, Pip and Wÿn followed him. Those who had come with Wÿn melted back into the shadows like modern day ninjas. Shaking his head at the thought, and not wanting to be in Wÿn or Pip’s company any longer, Gabe quickened his stride. Annoyingly, they kept pace.

  “What do you want?” Gabe snarled, spinning to confront them and drawing the batons out of his pockets, snapping them back out to full length in the process. Pip and Wÿn fighting at his side against the darkhunters only made them allies of the moment. Gabe’s trust had been shattered by these people. His anger rose again as his uncertainty of their motivations grew. If they meant Sūnder harm… His grip on the batons tightened.

  “Wÿn is going with you,” Pip said, as if Gabe was an idiot for not knowing. “And elders don’t go out in public without a green sentinel at their side.”

  Gabe was ready to pummel him, friend or no. That was not an explanation.

  “From what I’ve heard, Sūnder might need my help,” Wÿn interjected gently.

  A’ymon stood behind Gabe, a looming dark angel, a tacit announcement that A’ymon would back him up if Gabe said they couldn’t come. However, if what Wÿn said was true, he couldn’t deny Sūnder help, regardless of where said help came from. With an abrupt nod, he retracted the batons and put them away again. Then he punched Wÿn in the jaw. Hard. Pip yelled and surged forward only to be shoved away by A’ymon.

  “That was for abandoning me,” Gabe spat.

  Turning on his heel, he strode to a bike. The knight started the engine after Gabe had straddled the seat behind him. From the corner of his eye, he noticed irritably that A’ymon, Pip, and Wÿn all mounted up too.

  “Please hurry,” Gabe implored.

  “Yes, Prince Consort. Hold on tight, please,” the knight replied.

  The ride seemed to take forever, even though Gabe knew it was probably only a couple of minutes, considering how close they were to the hospital. The knight brought the bike to a halt at the emergency entrance, and when Gabe climbed off the motorcycle he was immediately surrounded by no fewer than fifteen guards. The sight of so many knights soothed Gabe. If they were here security had been tightened, and perhaps Valiant or Válora had arrived as well. Not that Gabe didn’t trust Ronan and Akirá to keep Sūnder safe, but the DarkHunters had proven to be persistent, and the more people guarding Sūnder, the better.

  Swear words and uncontrolled exclamations came from the people already in the waiting room. Gabe assumed it was due to the alarming amount of blood he wore, but no one stopped or questioned them. The nurses and doctors, people Gabe had worked closely with, all watched with wide eyes, quickly stepping out of the way of the Panthrÿn knights when necessary.

  Unsure where Sūnder had been put, Gabe glanced around. Sūnder’s brother paced the end of the hallway usually kept empty for dignitaries, so he headed in that direction. The guards parted for him when Gabe pushed through.

  “A’yrē!”

  The large Panthrÿn halted his pacing and turned to Gabe. He looked shockingly clean, and finally it registered with Gabe just how terrible he looked. There was no disguising the fact that he’d come from a battle, which would be sure to distress Sūnder. Well, fuck.

  “Thank the stars you are all right. Come! We need to get you cleaned up before we go in, but we must hurry. Sūnder needs you.” A’yrē grasped his arm and Gabe flinched, not wanting to get A’yrē soiled, but his brother-in-law ignored his attempt to twist free and pushed him into the nearby restroom.

  Gabe sent A’yrē to acquire a set of scrubs from the nurse’s station, then went directly to the sinks and turned on the water. His reflection let him know he looked worse than he’d thought. No wonder the people in the emergency room had been shocked. He scrubbed what he could from his arms and face. Before he finished, A’yrē returned with clothing, and Gabe changed quickly. Once done, A’yrē grabbed him again and led him down the hallway.

  Before he entered the room that held the heavy scents of Sūnder and his family, Gabe paused and turned to A’yrē. “There are two people with SilverHand A’ymon who said they could help Sūnder. Could you have the knights allow them through?” A’yrē nodded.

  Pushing a trembling hand through his hair, Gabe straightened his spine and slipped into the room. Behind him he heard A’yrē command a couple of knights to fetch Wÿn and Pip.

  A human doctor spoke with Dr. Lashūl. Ronan stood like a foreboding sentinel at the head of Sūnder’s bed. King Valiant crossed the room from the corner where he’d been standing and wrapped Gabe up in a bear hug. Gabe nodded absently when Valiant whispered his thanks for taking care of Sūnder and keeping him safe, and barely noticed Válora kiss his cheek as he slipped past them to Sūnder’s side.

  Bare chested but covered in a blanket from the waist down, Sūnder lay still and silent on the bed, the stripes along his abdomen bulging with large knots that stretched the skin unnaturally. Taking care not to disturb his mate, Gabe leaned over, gently pressing his forehead to Sūnder’s and inhaling Sūnder’s heady scent to reassure himself that yes, Sūnder was all right. An invisible hand gripped his heart when his mate didn’t open his beautifully unique eyes to stare back at him, but Sūnder’s breathing remained reassuringly strong and steady.

  Gabe stood back up at the sound of shuffling feet. Dr. Mitchell, the floor’s best surgeon and a man Gabe knew, didn’t look happy as he shot sour looks at Dr. Lashūl.

  “Hello, Gabe,” Dr. Lashūl said, his neutral stare and polite smile giving nothing away. “King Valiant insisted we wait for your arrival before we decided on a course of action. Dr. Mitchell would like to do a biopsy to identify what the masses are. I have told him we don’t have diseases like cancer, and therefore performing a biopsy could do Sūnder more harm than good, but he is insisting that we present the option to you. King Valiant did remind us that Sūnder had been poisoned a little over a week ago and this could be the result. It’s something we need to consider, but all the blood test results have come back negative for foreign substances.” By the tone of his voice, Dr. Lashūl had his doubts.

  Gabe struggled to swallow past the knot in his throat. He’d thought the same thing, as his inexperience could have meant he’d failed to cleanse Sūnder of all the toxins. At the time, he’d believed he had removed every trace of the darkness trying to eat Sūnder’s light, but perhaps the vileness had physically manifested before Gabe could collect it all. On the other hand, the evidence he’d gathered so far led him to believe the toxin could only affect Sūnder in a metaphysical manner—the darksoul effect and mental illness—but what if there was something he didn’t know, something he’d missed in his research?

  “Have any scans been conducted?” Gabe asked, surprised by Dr. Lashūl’s look of consternation.

  “We tried, but Sūnder’s magick flared up and rendered each of the devices inoperable.”

  If Sūnder was subconsciously protecting himself, then perhaps the masses were something other than a reaction to the pollution. With what little time he’d spent with Dr. Lashūl, he’d seen that when a Chándariān’s body needed healing, it allowed outside interference. Gabe tentatively stroked Sūnder’s chest, moving down to his abdomen, watching intently for any reaction
. The knots reminded Gabe of something from his nursing studies, but surely that couldn’t be right… He didn’t want to hurt Sūnder more than necessary, but he needed to probe the area to confirm what he was seeing.

  “You shouldn’t—”

  Gabe scowled at Dr. Mitchell, cutting off the doctor’s protest.

  Sūnder’s skin stretched impossibly tight over his lower torso. The series of bulging knots sat directly under Sūnder’s stripes, perfectly aligned, three to each stripe, and every one was unusually uniform in size.

  “What do we know about Sūnder’s stripes?” Gabe glanced up at Dr. Lashūl “Do they come from his Panthrÿn or L’fÿn genes?”

  Válora answered. “Every faeborn male I’ve seen has them. We aren’t sure what they are, or what function they perform, if they even do. There is very little medical information on faeborn. After the Faeborn Accords were instituted, I declined the doctor’s request to do exploratory surgery on any of the babes, deeming the scans satisfactory for their research. Now I wonder if I made the correct decision.” Válora wiped at her eyes, her gaze pleading with Gabe for him to understand. And he did.

  “I would’ve made the same decision,” he soothed. “At that time, there was no reason to believe there was a need for such actions.”

  “Mr. St. Baptista, a biopsy would be able to tell us more about what is wrong with Commander Alārd.” Even though Dr. Mitchell addressed Gabe, he looked to King Valiant, panicking Gabe. Would decisions for Sūnder’s care be taken out of his hands? Their mating was not yet official, and who knew what rights a mate had on Chándaria.

  “Their names are Prince Sūnder Alārd and Prince Consort Gabriel St. Baptista,” Valiant said with a distinct chill to his voice. “You may address him as Prince Consort Gabriel. Now, would you care to explain why are you looking to me when my son’s mate is standing right there in front of you?” Valiant asked, the last few words coming out low and growly.