Darkness Devours (Dark Angels 3)

Four Rakshasa moved to compass points around my body and began to chant. The sound resonated across the heavy atmosphere, dark and oddly powerful. From deep within the stones came a response—a heartbeat, slow and ponderous. It was as if the stones around me were coming to life.

The serpent-haired Rakshasa appeared, her chant joining the chorus of her kin as she swooped and tore my clothes from my body. I shivered as the cold, dense air hit my skin, and Amaya surged. She was so close to breaking through that I was surprised that the glow of her wasn’t making my skin translucent.

Snakes hissed and slithered as the Rakshasa moved around to my feet. She bent and took off my shoes, then tossed them toward the pile of my clothes. Her serpents kissed my toes, their tongues like little needles, pricking rather than tickling. Blood trickled from each of the wounds, the warmth contrasting sharply with the chill of my skin.

I dug my nails into my palms, and the pain cut through the haze of panic threatening to consume me, allowing some semblance of clarity. But it was all I could do to remain still and resist the temptation to get up and run.

I couldn’t move yet—figuratively or physically. My body still felt heavy, and Amaya had yet to finish her journey through my flesh.

The serpent-headed Rakshasa rose and disappeared back into the shadows. The other four continued their chant, and the beat of life in the stones around and underneath me got stronger. Whatever it was they were calling into life, it would soon be awake and aware. I had a feeling I didn’t want to be here when that happened.

I licked my lips, my gaze darting from side to side, trying to find the position of the other two Rakshasa. I couldn’t find the exotic one, but the serpent woman appeared again, an ancient-looking urn held with both hands above her head.

She stopped at my feet and spoke. The words were alien, but they ramped the power gathering in the air, making my hair stand on end and my skin quiver in revulsion.

The heat that was Amaya died within me, and I felt a moment of sheer terror. Then I realized the coolness of steel was pressed against my stomach, and the relief that swept me was so fierce that tears stung my eyes.

The serpent woman tilted the urn, her voice more strident, her words more commanding. Water poured down onto my feet and legs, thick and odorous. She continued to pour the liquid as she moved up my body, until I was completely covered in the goopy substance.

She reached my head, bent, and forced my mouth open, her sharp talons cutting into my skin as the tongues of her snakes darted across my face, tiny whips that cut and tasted. As she tilted the urn, Amaya screamed, No!

I didn’t think, I just reacted. I grabbed Amaya’s hilt, bought her sharply upward, and sliced through the hand that held me so brutally. The snake-headed Rakshasa screamed, the sound shattering the growing spell of power. The heartbeat in the stone hesitated, and the other Rakshasa roared. It was a sound filled with fury and death.

I threw myself sideways, scuttling the Rakshasa on my left and barely avoiding the urn as it crashed inches from my head. The moisture that ran through the shards of the ruined vessel was thick, gluey, and black. Blood, but not human, not animal. It smelled altogether different and alien.

I threw a punch into the face of the Rakshasa I’d scuttled, crushing her bulbous nose and sending blood and bits of flesh flying, then scrambled to my feet and ran for the nearest fissure. It was six against one and that wasn’t great odds in anyone’s language. If I could restrict available space—restrict the space they had to come at me—I might have more of a chance.

Air stirred, and the sensation of danger swamped me. I swung around and lashed out with the heel of my foot, sending the nearest Rakshasa flying backward. Another dove at me. I sliced down with Amaya, severing flesh and bone with equal ease. I continued to swing Amaya, using her as a shield as I ran backward, and prayed like hell there was nothing between me and that fissure.

My back hit stone, and pain snatched my breath. Blood began to pour from the wounds on my back and dots danced before my eyes. I hissed, but somehow remained upright and swinging.>If those shapes were any indication, there wasn’t just one Rakshasa here, but at least another five.

Panic surged anew, but I shoved it back down brutally. Panicking wouldn’t achieve anything, and it certainly wouldn’t get me out of here.

Something stirred to my left, and my gaze darted that way. One of the shadows peeled away from the wall and came toward me, the movement languid and oddly sensual. Which was fitting, because the woman who approached was one of the most exotic women I’d ever seen. She had the stature of an Amazon, with skin like warm honey and eyes the color of a newly unfurled leaf. Her hair was a fierce red and glowed like fire. But despite her beauty, there was little in the way of humanity in her expression, and her striking eyes were as cold as any monster’s.

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.