Beast of the Damned #2

*Chapter Eight*

~ KINLEY ~

Minutes ago Tristan's sword sent a black-winged creature back to whichever god made him, now it's resting at his side, the blood of our queen running down the length of the groove embedded in the steel.

Black seeps into Queen Kalista's purple eyes, branching out like the barren limbs of a tree infested with silkworms. Blistering clusters that resemble cobwebs begin to sprout as Kalista grasps at the hole in her chest that won't stop bleeding. The clusters spread fast, a living virus moving in time with the ebony veins swirling on the beast who speared her.

In the past hour, I've come close to meeting death three times. I always thought it was an action, an end to a life, the return of a soul to the kingdom to which it belongs. I didn't know death could be an emotion, but it must be. It's written all over Tristan's face.

Kalista drops where she stands, her skin completely gray.

"This latest incident is exactly why we must weaken the angel that lives in Kinley. If her power did not seep into her blood, Thron would never have been able to defy me." The Prince of Darkness saunters over to his throne, leaving his mate on the floor. He takes a seat, peering out at Kalista's unmoving form and the growing pool of blood beneath her.

"If Kinley should ever bleed without me around, I may not be able to protect her," he continues. "Her scent gets stronger every life cycle. As you see, the time has come when the sheer scent of her freed blood has the power to break even the strongest, most loyal of our kind."

"Don't just sit there. Do something!" Zaidan appears by his mother's side, pulling her upper body into his lap. "She's dying. She needs your blood."

"Relax, boy. She will come to in a little while. Do you really think I'd let your mother walk around without my blood running through her? Next time, she'll think about her actions, won't she?"

"How can a soul be defiled? Flesh, yes. A soul? Demons can't even possess human souls unless a deal is made." Tristan asks, taking a step to the side so Kalista's blood doesn't run into his boots.

He nearly killed our queen and he's acting as if it's no big deal. He should be groveling on his knees begging for mercy.

"Tahkra." The ancient word rolls from the Dark Prince's tongue, pricking my skin with a hiss that crawls over every inch of me.

"Tahkra is what demons use to steal energy from humans." Tristan angles himself so my view of Thron is disrupted.

If Thron weren't being held in place by the Prince's powers, he'd have his teeth sunk into me. Is that why the Prince allows Tristan to stand before him after his attack on Kalista? Because he's doing the Prince's bidding by protecting me as a massarra? I'm still unsure what caused this. One minute, I'm being held by Zaidan. The next, our queen is clinging to life, the same sword Tristan used to spear Thron sticking through her.

Zaidan soothingly strokes his mother's face, the gentle rock of his body meant to encourage her to consciousness sooner.

"Tahkra can be reversed," the Dark Prince says, snapping my attention to his and Tristan's conversation. "Instead of stealing energy, you can funnel the energy the other way. If the energy a vampire pushes out is dark enough, it can breach a light being's soul at their greatest moment of vulnerability."

"What vulnerability is that? I have walked through fields of corpses with warriors of my bloodline. The only vulnerability the angels have is a direct attack on the heart," Tristan replies.

"All light beings are made vulnerable the moment they derive pleasure outside that of praising their maker and doing her bidding. They are much like demons in that regard."

"You're saying souls feel separately than the flesh?" Zaidan interjects, his grip tightening on Queen Kalista's still-lifeless frame.

"Here," I kneel down beside him, unable to continue watching him suffer over the worry of his mother's ill-improving condition. "My blood may allow the Prince's to work faster if it has been a while since she ate."

"A soul can be sad, yet the flesh does not weep. That is because there are two planes of desire: physical and spiritual," the Prince answers, picking a spec of lint off his clothes. "Physical desire is driven by biological impulses embedded to help a species survive. It's shallow and self-serving. Souls only engage in the spiritual plane. It is a transcended level of living if one can align the desires of their soul with the needs of their physical plane."

"Are you sure?" Zaidan accepts my wrist.

I look to the Prince, knowing I'm not at liberty to be offering my blood to any vampires. Surely, he'll make an exception as this is for our queen.

The Prince nods.

"Make it quick." I turn my face away, biting my lip to ground myself for the pain I know is coming.

I wish I turned the other way for devil-black eyes are staring at me, a voraciousness scorching the entity that dwells within their depths.

A gasping breath parts Zaidan's hold of my wrist before his fangs can tear into me. Queen Kalista sits up, her confused state lasting less than a flicker of a flame.

I fall onto my rear halfway on top of Zaidan.

"I want her dead. Dead! Do you hear me!" Tristan keeps the queen from reaching me by a fist full of hair. "I will not have my son dying for this abomination. I sent him away to sever the witchery her cursed existence casts over him only to have him return home and pick up as if nine years had not passed. If you will not do it, I will find someone who will."

"You know I won't allow that." The Dark Prince rolls the lint he picked off him between his fingers.

"Then send him away. We have Thron. We do not need Tristan here." Tristan releases the queen once he's dragged her several feet away.

"On the contrary,"— the Dark Prince squashes the piece of lint and it burst into sparkling dust—"he's one of the few standing in their way."

"Whose way?" Queen Kalista swats Tristan's hand away when he extends his arm to help her up.

"The winged-beings of the heaven. If they want her, they'll have to go through him." 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Please don't forget to VOTE.

Well... This may have been the hardest chapter I have written. It's been my sticking point for sometime. Rewrites suck harder than Tristan. Feel free to tell him I said so ; )

/ (⁎˃ᆺ˂)＼