Darkness Devours (Dark Angels 3)

She stopped several feet away and gazed down at me. My heart beat so fast I could have sworn it was going to burst out of my chest, and sweat trickled down the side of my face.

“So,” she said, her voice holding the edge of an accent that was both foreign and somewhat grating. “You are the one who almost caught me. The one who works with the reaper.”

I tried to answer, but no sound came out. My vocal cords were as frozen as the rest of me.

“Why does a human work with a soul guide? I wonder. What makes you so special?”

She continued to study me, but the shadows behind her stirred, and harsh whispers rose, then fell away. I couldn’t understand what was said, simply because it wasn’t any language I’d heard before, but the Rakshasa raised a pale eyebrow and said, “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

She knelt and ran a finger across my chin. It came away bloody, and she raised it to her mouth and licked it clean.

“Your taste is sweet, but it is no different from that of any human,” she mused softly. “Why, then, do the reapers run with you?”

She studied me as if she expected an answer, but even if I had been able to speak, I wouldn’t have. I wanted her dead, not informed.

She smiled coldly, and it made me wonder if she was following my thoughts. I had the microcell implants, but had no idea whether they’d work against beings that were essentially spirit rather than flesh. They certainly didn’t appear to work against either Azriel or Lucian.

She walked around to my other side, a slight frown marring her face. “There is something about you, however. Something not of this world, and powerful.”

God, she was sensing Amaya.

No see, came her response, and with it a heat so fierce it burned into my spine. She was readying herself for battle, but it wouldn’t do me a whole lot of good if I couldn’t actually grip her.

I frowned, and forced every ounce of energy into trying to move something—anything. After a moment, my right hand twitched. Exhilaration surged. A twitch might not save me, but it was a definite sign that whatever it was that had frozen me was wearing off.

And maybe, just maybe, Amaya was helping. Until her heat had surged, my muscles had been totally unresponsive. As the thought crossed my mind, Amaya’s heat increased, storming through my body like wildfire. Sweat began to drip from every pore. It smelled like fear and poison.

“I do not like this,” the Rakshasa said, and raised her gaze to the shadows.

Again that murmur rose, the sound uneasy but vehement. The other Rakshasa wanted a kill, needed to taste flesh.

Fear threatened to choke me again. I took several deep breaths in an effort to remain calm, and kept my gaze on the Rakshasa. She was the immediate danger, not the ones who whispered from the shadows.

Her gaze came to mine again. She smiled, and in that instant I saw death.

My death.

Amaya’s heat became even fiercer, soaking through every pore and muscle, until it seemed that she was becoming a part of me.

And I suddenly realized that was exactly what she was doing. Her energy wasn’t just consuming me, it was shifting through me. She was moving through my flesh from her position at my back and, in the process, freeing me from the poison that held me immobile.

I twitched my fingers, my toes. Felt elation curl through me, and swiped down on it. Hard. Moving a few digits didn’t mean I was out of the woods. I needed full movement to have any hope—and even then, the odds were still stacked against survival.

The Rakshasa knelt beside me again. She gripped my face, her sharp nails digging into my skin but not actually cutting. “Your reaper cannot find you here,” she said softly. “You are ours to enjoy.”

I swallowed heavily. Urged Amaya to hurry the hell up.

“Our dark god demands a sacrifice during the feeding phase,” she continued, “and while the vampire would have sufficed, I believe you will bring us far greater favor.”

Meaning they weren’t going to eat me? I couldn’t exactly be unhappy about that, even though I wasn’t terribly keen on being sacrificed to their god instead.

She released me and rose. “Prepare her.”

The other Rakshasa peeled away from the shadows. I’d been expecting them to be as beautiful as the first one, but that wasn’t the case. Several verged on hideous, with yellowed skin, protruding teeth, long breasts and big bellies, while another had an odd number of limbs and the head of a horse. There was a dwarf with a bald head and a bulbous nose, while the last of them was tall and thin, and had the look of an elf. Except her skin was the color of moss and her hair a tangle of hissing serpents.

According to Azriel, the Rakshasa were shape-shifters, so I had to wonder why they’d chosen these forms over something more pleasant. But then, I guess beauty was in the eye of the beholder, and the Rakshasa were spirit rather than flesh. They weren’t likely to be governed by the same ideals of beauty as I was.

They shuffled toward me, eyes alight with an odd sense of expectation. I clenched my fists but could do little else except watch them. Amaya still burned through my body, her energy sitting somewhere in my middle, making my innards quiver and twitch—more from the thought of it than any actual discomfort. The ceremony that had made her a part of me had also ensured that she could never harm me physically. I wasn’t so sure about the whole mentally bit—at the very least, her constant hissing could possibly drive me around the bend.