The Darkling's Kiss: Part Three: On a Nightmare's Wing (The Daemon's Descendants Book 3) Read online

  The Darkling’s Kiss

  By

  Charlie Richards

  The Darkling's Kiss

  Part Three: On a Nightmare's Wings

  Published by Gargoyle Expressions, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Edited by AlternativEdits

  Cover Design by Alena Marie

  This book is a work of fiction, and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

  First Edition January 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by Gargoyle Expression, Inc.

  Blurb:

  For decades Philippe has lived the life of a thief, keeping apart from society. He steals items for customers…for a fee, of course, which has earned him wealth enough for several lifetimes. Due to his mixed heritage, a volatile mixture of human, angel, and daemon blood—a creature called a darkling—his job is his solace. After a disastrous encounter with a wizard, Philippe has a choice to make—live the rest of his life on the run or commit to a single task to gain a clean slate. Either way, his thieving days are over. Philippe accepts the Council of Wizard’s terms.

  He finds himself traveling with Kalylle, a wizard of the second order. Their task is to clear up a disagreement between the dwarf and elven nations, as a war between their peoples would tear Fidelia apart. To Philippe’s surprise, he discovers an unexpected kinship with Kalylle—an attraction that offers both danger to their mission and hope for a future. Except as they run up against one obstacle after another, it becomes clear that a third party is involved, someone with powerful magical resources. Can Philippe overcome the urges of his daemonic heritage so he can complete his quest with Kalylle, or will the machinations of rogue wizards cause him to lose himself to the daemon living inside him?

  Part Three: On a Nightmare’s Wings

  Chapter Eleven

  When they reached the small town of Faldspar, the group stopped to pick up supplies for the cold weather climb. Not ready to enter another town, Philippe tossed a satchel of coins to Kalylle and told him what he needed.

  “Not coming?” the wizard quietly asked, moving his horse beside Philippe’s.

  The darkling shook his head. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

  “Not to be an ass, but where did you get the coins?” Kalylle asked, clearly curious. “You, uh, did borrow from me for the clothes.”

  Philippe smirked as he responded in a whisper, “I have coins stashed in many places across Fidelia. One never knows when he might need a little extra.” Seeing Kalylle’s surprised expression, he told him, “We’re close to a couple of them, so I took a quick hour trip while everyone was sleeping a few nights back.”

  Kalylle nodded. “You were careful?”

  “I was,” Philippe assured. Reaching out, he touched his lover’s arm. “I’m okay.”

  Philippe waited until Kalylle nodded, then urged his horse away from the group. The hairs on his nape stood on end, and he imagined T’ Pan watching him. Instead of meeting the elf’s gaze, he focused on plotting a route around the town.

  After leaving Silvermoon, instead of diminishing, his turmoil had increased…probably because finding a few minutes alone with his lover had become nearly impossible. Every day he felt himself become more restless than the day before. He did his best to hide it from Kalylle, but he figured the wizard suspected.

  As he rode around the town, he eyed the nearby forest. An idea formed, and he headed toward the trees. Tying his horse near the edge, Philippe crept in on foot. The group will appreciate fresh meat. It seemed reasonable anyway. And maybe killing the game will help release my tension.

  Sitting on his horse almost a bell later, the gutted carcass of a small deer tied to the back of his saddle, Philippe watched his companions ride past the last of the houses. Once they’d entered the forest and ridden past him, he urged his horse out of the trees and fell into step behind them. The three glanced at him, and Kalylle’s gaze lingered on the deer.

  “Dinner,” Philippe murmured.

  “Ah,” the wizard responded.

  Five days later, he again supplied them with fresh meat. Philippe found that anticipating the kill during the hunt did more to alleviate his daemonic urge for violence than the actual kill itself.

  After returning to camp with the carcass, Philippe began slicing the meat, preparing for a long night of smoking it over the evening fire. Sensing T’ Pan’s approach, he turned his head just enough to eye the elf.

  “You like to hunt?”

  It was more a statement than a question. Due to the surprise flooding Philippe, he couldn’t get a good reading on the elf. T’ Pan hadn’t said much to anyone unless addressed directly. Finally, he shrugged, unsure the direction the elf would take the conversation. “It provides for the group.”

  The man stared solemnly at Philippe for a long moment. “Do you hunt more than animals?”

  The darkling paused in slicing the meat and straightened. He finally felt the wave of protectiveness coming off the other man and realization hit him. He smiled coldly. “At times. Do you?” Philippe glanced meaningfully at Ta Kale before refocusing his gaze on T’ Pan. He watched a muscle jump in the other man’s jaw. A wave of irritation hit him.

  “Group safety is my primary concern.”

  Philippe felt the deception in the man’s words. He didn’t care about the group, only Ta Kale. He wondered why he hadn’t seen it right off. This man was more than just the elf seer’s servant. Philippe kept the cold smile in place, his gaze drilling into the other man. “And you feel I don’t share your goal?”

  T’ Pan didn’t flinch. “That’s correct.”

  “You’re right, then.” Philippe allowed a cold chuckle. “I don’t.”

  Turning his back on the other man, Philippe returned to preparing the meat. He felt the elf’s surprise, but the man didn’t pursue the subject. Instead, he returned to the seer’s side. Philippe knew the man would keep a sharp eye on him. He wanted to shrug but had trained himself too well to show that disregard. Placing the meat on the fire, he wondered at the realization that the hunt caused more of a calming effect than actually killing the animal. He didn’t know why that would be.

  Soon after that, the group began to climb steadily upward, and the forest fell away. Snow coated the ground every night. At first, it would melt throughout the morning, but before long it stuck, deepening the higher they went. The four kept going, the snow crunching under the horses’ hooves.

  Kalylle led, followed closely by T’ Pan and Ta Kale. Philippe lagged behind, keeping apart from the others. The deepening snow forced their progress to slow. The tunneling spell only cleared several hundred feet at a time, so when Kalylle tired, the group stopped to rest. White snow and gray rock outcroppings gave Philippe little scenery to focus on, and he soon found his mind wondering when he’d be finished with his involvement with the wizards.

  Would the Council follow through with their promise to pardon his crimes once his task was complete? If they did, what would he do with his life then? What of his connection with Kalylle? Would the wizard even want to continue—

  Pushing the useless thoughts aside, Philippe watched as Kalylle finished another spell. He noticed the way the wizard slumped in his saddle, his head bowed. Swinging from
his mount, he caught T’ Pan’s eye.

  “It’ll be dark soon,” Philippe pointed out. “This place is as good as any to set up camp.”

  After the elves exchanged a glance, they dismounted. Philippe watched Kalylle lower himself slowly from his horse. He stared closely, ready to cross to his side should the man appear to need assistance.

  Kalylle must have noticed his focus for he lifted a white-blond brow in question. Philippe swept his gaze over the man’s face and body. His lover’s shoulders were tight, and lines of fatigue etched across his features.

  Acting on some instinct he couldn’t identify, Philippe crossed the few steps needed to stand beside Kalylle. “We’re making decent time, considering the amount of snow,” he murmured, bowing close. “But don’t push too hard. It won’t do any of us any good if you work yourself to the point of collapse.”

  Scowling, Kalylle muttered, “I’m fine.”

  Realizing he’d struck a nerve, Philippe nodded and returned to his horse. After picketing his mount, he laid out his bedroll on the outer reaches of the firelight and settled on it. He frowned when he saw the wizard cast a spell to sustain the small fire T’ Pan had started. His lover was pushing too damn hard.

  When was the last time I worried after someone other than myself?

  Disliking the confused feelings, Philippe turned his focus to T’ Pan. He could admit, at least to himself, that the elf intrigued him. Several nights before, he’d watched in amazement when the man had started a fire with cold, frozen wood pulled from under the snow.

  After that, he’d been careful to observe him each time he started a fire. The evening before he’d finally noticed the dark powder the elf pulled from a small pouch at his belt and rubbed on the wood. He wondered what it was and racked his mind for a suitable way to ask.

  Kalylle eased onto his bedroll, catching Philippe’s attention again. He saw the grimace on his lover’s face and took in the way the firelight played across the fatigue lines on Kalylle’s features as the man crossed his legs before him. Concerned, he rose from his bedroll and moved toward the wizard.

  Surreptitiously slipping off a glove, Philippe’s white, bare hand gleamed in the firelight. He squeezed the man’s shoulder as he knelt beside him. Sliding his hand up the man’s neck, he used his hold to tip his head a little. He took in Kalylle’s surprised expression at his brazenness, but he just smirked at his lover.

  “You are pushing yourself too hard,” Philippe chided right before his sealed his lips over Kalylle’s. He breathed into his wizard’s mouth, offering the lightest Angel’s Kiss he’d ever done. He pushed just enough healing energy into the man to ease his lover’s fatigue, tension, and mental strain caused by his excessive spell-casting. Philippe soon ended the process, delving his tongue in deep, then nipping Kalylle’s bottom lip before separating their lips. His voice husky, he rumbled, “Now how do you feel?”

  “H-Holy hell,” Kalylle mumbled, his tone shocked. He glanced around furtively, probably checking to see if they were watched.

  Chuckling roughly, arousal from the kiss thrumming through his system, Philippe stated, “They don’t care.”

  Kalylle nodded once. His blue eyes were wide, and he panted lightly through slightly parted lips. “I’d, uh—” He paused and cleared his throat, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. Then he whispered, “I’d say fatigue is no longer my problem.”

  “I’d suggest slipping away for a few minutes,” Philippe murmured, chuckling tightly, completely understanding Kalylle’s discomfort since he shared it. “Unfortunately, there’s nowhere to slip to.”

  Kalylle nodded, meeting his gaze. “Still, thank you.”

  Philippe nodded, sweeping his gaze over Kalylle’s face once more. He just resisted the urge to seal his lips over his lover’s mouth again and push him back on the bedroll. It’d be so easy to hike up his lover’s robes, pull a blanket over them, and rut one out. Somehow, Philippe didn’t think his reserved wizard would appreciate the mild exhibitionism. Instead, he ignored his aching prick, gave his lover one more smile, and pushed to his feet.

  Moving away from the man he wanted to be balls-deep inside was damn difficult, testing his control. He knew helping Kalylle in that manner had been a risk, but he hadn’t seen an alternative. He didn’t want the wizard slipping into a mage’s coma from too much strain on the body.

  During Philippe’s short stay at Xebean, he’d heard of students doing just that. They’d expend too much energy while training, depleting their bodies of their life force, and had ended up collapsing. The students could end up in the hospital wing for several days while recovering.

  Philippe rounded the fire, taking slow deep breaths in the process. Feeling more in control, he headed toward the quiet elves. The group spoke very little beyond discussing the best route to the mountains. T’ Pan eyed him warily as he approached. Ta Kale ignored him, continuing to read a scroll by firelight.

  Settling into a crouch next to T’ Pan, Philippe stared into the darkness for several seconds before turning to the elf. “The powder you put on the wood,” he began, deciding to go for blunt. “What is it?”

  It took T’ Pan so long to respond that Philippe thought he wouldn’t. “It’s Candose Root, boiled and ground.”

  “Interesting,” Philippe murmured. He would never have guessed that the blue flower’s roots could be used for anything. “How does it work?”

  T’ Pan gave him another long stare. “Boiling the root saturates it. Then grinding it releases the moisture, but the roots still crave the water. It’ll absorb it off most surfaces. The powder soaks up the water from the wood leaving it dry to burn.”

  Philippe wondered if it would also absorb a body’s moisture if sprinkled on it, but knew how that question would sound to the untrusting elf. Instead, he asked, “Are there any other uses?”

  T’ Pan shrugged. “Perhaps.”

  Philippe noticed the elf’s dark-eyed gaze flicker between him, Ta Kale, and the darkness around them. “How long have you been her bodyguard?”

  “Eighty-seven years.”

  Philippe nodded, wondering if he’d even manage to live that long. Just how old was this pair? He rose and moved back to his bedroll, his booted feet crunching on the snow. His darkling senses stretched, but he found that the only living creatures in the area were him and those with him.

  Curling up in his bedroll, he slept.

  Philippe felt the difference immediately. Struggling to keep his breathing even, he focused internally, trying to calm the daemon within him. What changed overnight? Working to still his body’s trembling, he opened his eyes and surveyed the area. He saw nothing amiss, but he could feel it.

  Rising, Philippe continued to look around as he rolled up his bedroll. Several horses shifted restlessly as he neared. They feel it, too. Or they feel my agitation. His mount stilled, focused on him, and then stared toward the west, snorting. Philippe saw nothing but snow.

  He felt Kalylle’s approach from behind him. His shoulders tightened with tension. “That’s close enough,” he hissed in warning.

  Kalylle paused, and Philippe felt the wizard’s surprise. “Something has them agitated.”

  The darkling nodded. “I feel it, too.”

  “What is it?”

  He shook his head. “There’s something out there,” he muttered. A sudden idea chilled him. Taking a deep breath, he entered the Innerworld. Hearing a roar, he spun. A massive, black daemon stood behind him. The thing towered over him, its red eyes peering out of a skull-like face, and the creature roared again.

  Before Philippe could phase back out, the daemon swung its huge, clawed talons. The blow connected, sending him flying backward. Before he’d even landed, he yanked himself back onto the physical plane.

  Philippe sprawled on his back in the snow. Letting out a string of curses, he took Kalylle’s offered hand and climbed back to his feet. He held up the slashed bedroll still in his arms. “So stupid,” he muttered, berating his idiocy while staring at
the fabric.

  “What happened?”

  Stunned, he found Kalylle still offered him a supporting hand. “A daemon’s following us, looking for a way through the veil.”

  Kalylle’s brows furrowed. “I can fix this,” the wizard whispered, indicating the bedroll. “But not this…”

  Philippe stared in surprise at the deep slashes in his arm. The talons had sliced through the bedroll and across his left arm. Blood oozed from four, deep gouges. Feeling fiery tendrils traveling up his arm and through his torso, Philippe hissed in pain. “Its talons are poisonous,” he whispered as the world closed in, and his body sank into the snow.

  The world around Philippe shifted, tilting. He staggered through the darkness, his balance gone. Where am I? What am I doing here?

  Voices whispered from the darkness around him. Who are you? Why are you here? You’re not human. What are you?

  Stumbling, Philippe dropped to his knees. Covering his ears, he let out a moan, but the voices continued. You don’t belong. You’re different.

  The ground suddenly dropped out from under Philippe. The breath whooshed from his lungs as he landed on his back. He couldn’t see. He felt hands grasping his limbs and pressure on his chest. “Get it off him,” he heard someone order.

  Hands roughly removed his shirt. A chill swept through him.

  “Hold him down,” another voice roared when he started to struggle.

  Suddenly, Philippe felt a wave of heat wash over him, and his body no longer responded to his commands. Hands touched his face, and bright light filled his eyes. Agony seared through his arm, yanking a cry of pain from him.

  “Philippe.” He recognized Kalylle’s voice. “Are you with us, Philippe?”

  “Look at his eyes,” he heard T’ Pan whisper from somewhere above him. “They’re milky white.”

  “I can’t see,” Philippe stated, using the carefully spoken words to fight the panic flooding him. His statement met with silence.

  After what seemed like ages, he heard Ta Kale say, “That’s the poison affecting you. Once it passes from your system, your eyesight should return.”