Kresley Cole - Kiss of a Demon King

"I don't believe that," Rydstrom said. "And you'll never convince me of it."

"Omort, we can do this later," Lanthe cried. "She needs the morsus now!"

"And I'll give it to her when the demon's dead and you are gone! Now leave before I finish you."

Lanthe's tears ceased. Her eyes went cold. "No."

"What did you say to me?" His words were dripping with malice.

"I said . .. use - no - sorcery."

At Lanthe's command, Sabine silently begged, Please let this be the time. Everything rests on this . . .

Sabine's amazement matched Omort's-because when he raised his hands to punish Lanthe, his palms were cold.

Rydstrom tensed against her.

"What is this?" Omort bellowed, that vein pulsing in his forehead. His eyes darkening to a metallic yellow, he stalked after her. "I will make you burn, Melanthe!"

"Come no closer to me."

Omort stopped abruptly, staring at Lanthe in bewil­derment. "Guards!" he called for the mindless rev-enants. They marched from the perimeter as one, surrounding them with swords raised.

Lanthe faced them, and with her voice ringing out, she said, "Fight only each other."

When they began engaging each other, clashing swords all around them, Lanthe ran for the double doors of the court, barricading them with their locking bar, buying time.

Sabine thought, That's my sister. . . .

"No!" Omort yelled. "Demons!"

"Don't call them!" Lanthe hissed, and Omort fell silent.

But with that command, Sabine sensed Lanthe's power was depleted once more.

Rydstrom appeared stunned, even more when Sabine whispered, "I have something for you, demon." She shakily tugged open the edge of one of the blankets that Nïx had bundled her in, presenting him with the sword that lay along her body. She'd asked the Valkyrie, "Why are you doing this? For your army? Or for Rydstrom?" N'ix had answered, "Maybe I'm doing it for you."

"Sabine, I don't.. . you are sick?"

"I am, but Nïx gave me a shot... so I could have the strength to give this to you. But it's starting to fade. You have to use this to kill Omort-"

"Then who will give you the antidote?"

"The Hag will help . . . but only after Omort dies. There's not . . . much time, Rydstrom. Lanthe's powers are weak. . . . Hettiah might come and erase her com­mands."

"Then if I right Omort, I risk you. There's not enough

time-"

"You can do this. You must. Destroy him forever. It's your due...."

This was all a trick? Sabine had warned him again and again. I always have a plan, she'd said. Nothing is as it seems with me.

Here was his chance to destroy Omort, and as he took the sword from her, all he could wonder was if she had feigned her feelings for him.

No. He knew his woman, and with everything in him he felt that she returned his love. "Sabine-"

"Kill first... talk later. Please."

He gave a grave nod, then turned to Lanthe. "Come, take Sabine."

She hurried over, clasping Sabine in her arms.

"If you've gotten your powers back, then heal her," Rydstrom said.

"I'm out, demon. I'm tapped. I can't help Sabine, I can't stop the fire demons from eventually busting down that door, and I can't freeze Omort for you to simply behead him. I forbade him to use sorcery, but he can still fight you."

Rydstrom grasped the sword, rising up to slay a sor-cerer. Omort's yellow eyes seemed to bulge at the sight of the weapon.

"How did you get that inside here? Sabine?" He briefly appeared devastated, before his crazed look returned. To Rydstrom, he said, "You forced her to do this. She would never willingly betray me."

From his scabbard, Omort drew a sword with a mystickal blade of concentrated fire. "Even without my sorcery, I will still take your head! I look forward to meeting you once more in battle-and I fight for her."

I do, too. "In any other circumstance, I'd want to savor killing you," Rydstrom said, advancing on Omort. "But as much as I've envisioned this fight, I just don't have time for it." Never would he have imagined he'd be fighting Omort, not for his crown, but for the life of the woman he loved.

They began circling each other. Omort struck first, but Rydstrom made an easy parry, his sword sparking off Omort's blade.

"My brother Groot forged that sword true," Omort said. "Mine usually cuts through metal." He charged once more, striking with a blinding speed.

Rydstrom blocked again. Omort was surprisingly good-just as he'd been nearly a millennium ago. He was fast, his eyes revealing nothing. He telegraphed no move.

Again, they circled, assessing each other for weak' nesses. Omort surged forward, flying to get to his back. Rydstrom pivoted around with his sword for a clean block.

The sorcerer had skills and technique, but so did Rydstrom. And he could beat Omort's speed with his strength.

When Rydstrom's sword connected with Omort's, he followed through with all the power in his body, making the sorcerer's weapon quake in his own hands, jarring him with the merciless strike.

Again and again, their swords clashed. Then Ryd­strom feinted, catching Omort off-guard, and delivered a particularly punishing blow against his sword. Omort staggered, his body growing weaker.

Just when Rydstrom made a charge to end this, Omort snatched off" his cape, throwing it over Ryd­strom's head.

His vision obscured, Rydstrom leapt back, snatching at the material, just dodging the worst of Omort's next blow. The blade of fire cleaved through Rydstrom's shirt, searing a line across his chest.

The sorcerer came in for the kill right as he was able to see once more. Rydstrom switched sword hands as he twisted around, then swung a backhanded blow.

It landed true. Omort's head thudded to the floor. His corpse dropped to its knees before slumping to the ground.

Need to get to Sabine. But Rydstrom couldn't repeat the mistake he'd made the last time he'd faced this foe. He forced himself to wait for the space of several heart­beats.

These moments feel longer than the nine hundred years I've waited for this. . . .

The sorcerer did not regenerate. A wall of hanging tablets came crashing down, splintering across the floor. With the death of their master, the revenants dropped

ail around them.

Rydstrom clutched the hilt of the sword in thanks as he charged for Sabine. The weapon had fulfilled its

fated task.

Lanthe murmured, "No longer deathless-"

Suddenly, the great doors of the court began bowing as fire demons fought to get inside. Rydstrom skidded to a stop, swinging around, readying for battle once more.

Over his shoulder, he said to Lanthe. "Still noth­ing?"

"No, but if we can make it out of here alive, we can

get to the Hag-"

The doors began to smoke, then burn. Soon the remaining warriors of the Pravus, mainly fire demons, rushed in. The tide slowed when they spied Omort the Deathless, sprawled beheaded by his throne.

The call arose among the fire demons to take the castle. They surrounded Rydstrom, raising their palms alight with flames. With this many combining fire, they could kill him. Too many . . .

Rydstrom heard Sabine scream again as the pain

hit-Suddenly, the fire demons' attention shifted from

Rydstrom to something behind him. "Need some help?" Cadeon called. When Rydstrom twisted around, he found his

brother-and Cadeon's entire crew of mercenaries-

here and looking bloodthirsty.

It hit Rydstrom then-with Omort's death, Cadeon could trace once more. And he'd led his men here.

Just as the mercenaries attacked, Sabine screamed again. Rydstrom charged for her, battering any oppo­nents in his way. When he reached her, he shoved the sword in his belt, then cradled her in his arms. She'd gone unconscious.