Eternal Day Read online

  He held up his hand, his attention focused on the slender form of the icrathari walking around his cavern, her fingers brushing against the art he had created and destroyed.

  Tera’s steel-studded leather bustier, pants, and knee-high boots should have made her look like the warlord she was. In that moment, however, alone and thoughtful, almost pensive, she reminded him of how he had once perceived her—compelled by duty to be both competent and ruthless in battle, but in truth, drawn to beauty.

  How many nights had she sat by him in the town square, watching him sketch villagers and vistas? They rarely spoke even though madness and screams rang all around them. Cocooned in perfect togetherness, he was not human and she was not icrathari. They were just Erich and Tera—two beings united by love of beauty in its many forms; hers for his art, and his for her.

  Two hundred and fifty years later, his humanity long abandoned, Erich saw more with his vampire eyes—the subtle tension in Tera’s shoulders as she walked, the slight narrowing of her eyes against a deeper heartache than her calm expression revealed.

  Driven by necessity.

  Tera, more so than the other icrathari, was driven by necessity to protect the city, whatever the cost. She had done so, breaking the back of the human rebellion two hundred and fifty years earlier. She had done so, burying him outside of the great dome, to keep the people safe.

  What he still did not understand was why she did not let him die. An instant of bewildered pain, and it would have been over forever.

  Instead, she had given him forever, and then condemned him to live it in hell.

  If he had one wish before he killed Tera, it would be to ask her why. Her answer would be his last conscious thought as he walked out into the sun and into death that no one—not even an immortali—could escape. Tera was his only unfulfilled task; when she was gone, there would be no more reason for him to live.

  And yet…

  She had been the reason he had survived the wrenching, mind-twisting transforming from human to immortali. Holding on to the image of her had anchored him as his mind shattered and reformed, as his body died and was reborn. The utter certainly that his muse would never hurt him had cradled his soul through that impossibly dark night, buried deep in the ground.

  Lies. All lies.

  She had saved him, as surely as she had condemned him.

  Why? Why? Why?

  Canya’s voice hissed. “We cannot let this opportunity pass. Tera defends the city. Killing her is the key to taking Aeternae Noctis.”

  Daryun grimaced. He shook his head. “More death isn’t the answer.”

  Canya snarled at her lover. “For Megun. For Elken.”

  “She did not kill Elken,” Daryun said. “The elder vampire, Rafael, did. And we do not know who killed Megun.”

  “I don’t care who struck the killing blow. It was one of them, for all of them. They abandoned their calling, the charge placed upon us by the Great Mother. For a thousand years, they’ve cowed beneath the protection of their dome, turning a blind eye and cold shoulder upon the devastation of Earth and its people. The icrathari are heartless, merciless—”

  “We were all once icrathari.”

  “No more, and proud of it.” She drew herself up and turned to Erich. “Do not be deceived by what you see, or by ancient myths of angels and demons.” She held out her hands, her skin darkened and shriveled. Any hair she had had been burned off, and her eyes gleamed yellow in her wizened face. “This is the price we paid for saving humanity. The icrathari chose to preserve their beauty and their perfection.” She gestured at Tera, silver-haired and porcelain-skinned, as she roamed around the cave, studying Erich’s art. “What you see is their utter selfishness.”

  “They’ve saved humans, too,” Erich said.

  “To live constrained and terror-filled lives under the eternal control of the icrathari? Pandering to the egos of those vain, self-centered demons? To have your children torn from your embrace at their whim?” Canya hissed. “That is not life. That is slavery.”

  Daryun rested his hand on Erich’s shoulder. “The confusion you feel is normal. An icrathari’s blood is powerful. The bond it creates lasts forever. But you have seen for yourself what is real and what is not. This—the world outside of Aeternae Noctis—is real. This is the world we’re fighting to recreate, and we need what is inside Aeternae Noctis. The icrathari, however, have no interest in this world.”

  “Yet they have set up human settlements,” Erich said.

  “The four domed cities in the valley? They are tiring of the few humans under their responsibility. They are abandoning them.” Canya shook her head. “You know the icrathari, Erich; they are reckless and irresponsible. Tera transformed you and left you to die. Why?”

  I’ve been asking myself that same question for the past two centuries.

  “They are creatures of whimsical and fickle appetites. They have the luxury of loving and stopping when they will, but the ones who love them do not have the privilege of that choice.” Canya’s jaw tightened. “She took that choice from you, Erich, but you’ve broken free of her.”

  Have I?

  Or is my obsession to kill her evidence that I am still trapped, hating her and loving her in equal measure. No peace to be found until she’s dead, and I am, too.

  Erich stared at Tera—beautiful, perfect, and still his muse, however twisted and destructive their relationship had become.

  What is an artist without his muse?

  Nothing.

  His gaze rested on his maimed fingers and crooked hands. I am no longer an artist. She made certain of it.

  Several moments passed before he finally looked up at the two daevas. Daryun’s eyes held a glimmer of compassion, but Canya’s eyes were narrow slits. Like when we first met… How long had he spent winning her trust and gaining the respect of the daevas? Too long. If he hesitated, if he allowed his judgment to be clouded by his tangled emotions for Tera, he would sacrifice some, or all, of the political capital he had accumulated thus far.

  Any loss of position was dangerous. The multilayered hierarchy of daeva society did not offer any second chances for those who had fallen out of favor.

  To lose everything he had fought for because he could not rule his emotions— A muscle twitched in Erich’s cheek. “We will kill Tera.”

  Canya bared her pointed teeth in a vicious grin, but Daryun cut in, his voice firm. “No. The killing has to stop somewhere, sometime—before all of us are dead.” He gave Canya, his life-mate, a pleading look. “We were once all icrathari. We were once all friends.”

  Canya’s stony gaze softened. “Perhaps, but we will still have to take her in battle. When she’s subdued, perhaps we can talk.” She glanced at Erich, waiting for his consent, his final word.

  Erich nodded. “Attack.”

  His words unleashed the storm. It rumbled through the tunnels, the air vibrating as if alive, pummeled by the beat of many wings. Within the cave, Tera shook her braid back over her shoulder. Her expression betrayed neither surprise nor dismay. Her seemingly aimless wandering around the cave had obviously served a more pragmatic purpose; she had assessed its entry points and its defensive capabilities.

  She positioned herself next to the cave’s only entrance, too small to permit more than one daeva through at a time. The first daeva rushed through the entrance. She yanked its head back and slashed her claws across its throat. It was still squirming, its feet kicking feebly when she dropped it to the ground and seized the next demon.

  Eric drew a deep breath; the muscles in his cheek ached from the unexpected smile of appreciation. Tera was his muse—pensive and thoughtful, unafraid of quiet spaces—but she was also a warlord; the black-winged embodiment of death.

  More daevas rushed toward the entrance, toward certain death. The heap of wriggling bodies grew. The puddle of golden blood pooling at Tera’s feet swelled.

  Daryun shot to his feet. Panic infused his voice. “The little ones are dying. Call them back. W
e have to stop the fight!” He scrambled down the labyrinth of tunnels leading to Erich’s cave.

  Canya shouted, “No, wait! She’s too strong for you.” She raced after Daryun.

  Erich followed the two daevas; he hurtled through the familiar tunnels that bore Tera’s recent scent as well as the rising fragrance of fresh blood. He was close enough to see Daryun order the young daevas to fall back; close enough to witness Daryun push through the blockade of weakly squirming bodies to save others; close enough to hear Daryun’s scream abruptly cut off.

  No!

  Erich shoved through the living barricade. He froze. Tera, her clothes and skin splattered with golden blood, stood over the carnage. Her face was utterly expressionless as she withdrew her right fist from Daryun’s stomach. His entrails tangled between her fingers, which curved like the talons of a bird of prey. Daryun’s head flopped, his neck attached to his shoulders only by a sinewy flap of skin. Blood ran down his body, shining golden against the darkness; life fleeing.

  Canya’s screech of anguish transformed into a battle cry. The daeva launched at Tera. Both icrathari and daeva tumbled to the dirt in a flurry of wings. Erich cradled Daryun’s broken body; his friend’s eyes were wide open, his mouth frozen in a silent scream of denial.

  Tera fought without hesitation and killed without mercy. Even so, Daryun had clearly not expected to die, not at Tera’s hands.

  Erich’s mind bombarded him with memory fragments of Tera’s hands gentle and cool against his face as his body burned from within. Her blood coursing through his veins was already taking hold. She had brushed her fingers against his cheek in a lingering caress.

  He remembered little of his human life in the dome, but he never forgot that last memory of Tera’s face, of her hands, of the tears in her eyes. Long after she buried and abandoned him, he could still feel her touch—his last as a human, his first as an immortali.

  His memories had lied to him. Tera’s hands were not gentle. Her hands were claws, weapons of war, instruments of death.

  Megun. Elken. Daryun.

  Tera had murdered his friends.

  The suffocating weight in Erich’s lungs unraveled, curling into a fog that rose up, swamping his mind. Thoughts blurred. Emotions blended. Where love ended, where hate began, he did not know. Erich’s upper lip pulled back to reveal gleaming incisors.

  Here. Now. Tera dies.

  With a snarl, he threw himself into the tangle of battle, but powerful wings slapped him back. Steel studs tore gashes in his cheek.

  Canya screeched with pain as she tumbled out of the fight. She hunched over herself, bleeding from the deep slashes on her torso.

  The dust settled. Tera rose slowly, straightening from her battle crouch. The gold that decorated her armor was daeva blood; the icrathari warlord was untouched. She wore her colors—black leather armor, silver hair, and fair skin—like a banner of war. Golden blood dripped from her talons.

  Erich’s breath held.

  How could he not have loved her?

  How could he not hate her?

  He faced her; no need to posture or circle for an opening. Erich stared into the face of the angel—the demon—he had loved. The ache in his chest was familiar; he had felt it for hundreds of years. It had sustained him through the madness of his transformation from human to icrathari.

  It had trapped him in denial for hundreds of years. Like Daryun, he could not believe that Tera would hurt him, much less destroy him.

  But she had.

  The pain was no less vivid than that first hour of his eternal night.

  Face-to-face, Erich could not deny the power Tera still held over him. Love. How much deeper must I sink into madness?

  I am an immortali. I destroy the things I love.

  He lunged at her.

  She sidestepped; her wing swiped out. The metal studs ripped gashes into his shoulder. His blood, golden-red, wept from the wound.

  Tera’s gaze flicked to his injury; something flashed in her gray eyes, but it passed quickly. He must have imagined it. She was not capable of compassion or empathy.

  Erich attacked. She leaped up, the downward beat of her wings carrying her over his head. Her wings swept in, wrapping around her to drop her behind him. She pulled his head back; her claws poised at his exposed throat.

  He twisted but could not break free of her grip.

  Fear seized his breath. It was over. They both knew it.

  Her cheek pressed against his. Strands of her silver hair wafted against his face, gentler than a breath of wind.

  If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine himself on the Earth’s surface, the bite of the night wind against his skin, Tera’s steady presence behind him, supporting him.

  Once, she had torn into her wrist, feeding him her golden blood. Today, that same hand would rip his jugular, ending his life.

  Life and death come full circle, as it was always meant to be.

  Her lips moved against his ear. Her voice murmured words intended only for him. “I am sorry.”

  Sorry…?

  His eyes flashed open. His entire world condensed into the hairsbreadth of space between him and Tera. Sorry…

  For what…?

  Her grip was unyielding; he could not get the words out nor could he move, but his gaze flicked sideways.

  Her hand was already moving, the sharp nails tearing against his jugular, but then their eyes met.

  She hesitated.

  He saw in her eyes the same something he had glimpsed earlier. Up close, it stunned him—beautiful in a way no words could express. What was it?

  Tera suddenly stiffened, pain glazing over her face. Her grip loosened as she reeled to one knee. Her hand pressed against the vicious gash in her neck. Blood ran in rivulets down her arm to pool in the dirt.

  Canya rose over Tera, her eyes narrowed and fangs bared. Tera’s blood dripped from her claws. Anticipation glittered like the edge of a gleaming blade as Canya drew her arm back for the fatal strike.

  Chapter 5

  Words wafted like a diaphanous veil in front of Tera, too wispy to grasp, too fragile to part. Once, twice, she heard something she almost understood, but she could not focus her thoughts enough to unravel the tangle of words.

  Voices emerged through the veil, gradually growing distinct. One of the voices—deep and sonorous—resonated like a memory.

  A village square drenched in moonlight. A tall, lean man seated by the fountain, the sliver of charcoal in his hand darting over parchment.

  He created beauty out of nothing.

  Erich.

  His voice was an anchor in an ocean of anguish. The depths gave way to shallows as her grip tightened; the mist parted enough for the pain to localize at her neck and her stomach.

  Tear life from the throat. The soul from the stomach.

  She was dying.

  Vague memories filtered through the haze of her injuries. Canya’s attack had dropped Tera to her knees. The shock of the wound left her unable to defend against the second attack that slashed across her abdomen.

  Had she heard or merely imagined Erich’s voice, as distant as a dream, scream, “No! Ashra will never open the doors of Aeternae Noctis to you if you kill Tera.”

  Another voice hissed, “Ashra will never open the doors of Aeternae Noctis, not even if Tera’s life hangs from a single strand of her silver hair. These demons—merciless demons—care for nothing and no one. She killed Daryun—the gentlest of us!”

  Daryun?

  Had he joined the endless charge of daevas—one among the indistinguishable flutter of black wings?

  Had she killed him?

  No… But the words whispered no louder than the confines of Tera’s mind, entrapped by pain and injury. Remorse fluttered and pecked like a murder of black-winged ravens attacking a crippled sparrow.

  I’m sorry…never meant to hurt Daryun.

  Never meant for so many things to happen…

  Canya’s voice cracked. “Daryun swore we could
find common ground with the icrathari. He sacrificed his life for nothing!”

  “We attacked her.”

  “Are you defending her?” Canya’s voice rose in outrage. “We choose who we fight and kill. So does she.”

  “If you kill her—”

  “If? I will kill her in front of all the daevas, so they know there is nothing to fear from the demons of the domed city. My daevas will know that the icrathari and vampires do not control the day and the night, that they can be defeated and slaughtered.”

  “Canya—”

  “And you…” Scorn drenched her tone. “Your vision is clouded; your loyalties uncertain.”

  “I have already thanked you for saving me.”

  “But only after you deflected my killing blow.”

  “You’ve defeated Tera. What more do you need?” Erich asked.

  “I need her to die!”

  “Her death will not bring back Daryun. It will not give you Aeternae Noctis.”

  “It will avenge my life-mate. It will give me peace,” Canya said. “And it will give you peace.”

  Erich responded with silence.

  Canya’s snarl set off a rolling echo. It bounced off the cavern walls to ring within Tera’s skull. She would have flinched, but she could not find the strength to move.

  Canya’s voice grated. “Do you not recall who saved you from the sun, who taught you to find refuge underground? We are your friends, your family. We took you in when she cast you out.”

  “And I am grateful.”

  “Not nearly grateful enough. Be careful, Erich. Do not think that your position is any more secure because there are fewer leaders among the daevas. You lead, you live, on my whim. Defy me once more, and you will die.”

  Erich was briefly silent before he responded. “I understand.”

  Movement danced like shades in Tera’s peripheral vision. Canya’s voice loomed over her. “The daevas will be gathered in several hours. It ends then, for her.”

  A blow against Tera’s spine exploded shards of white-hot pain from her stomach. Her vision wrenched, twisted, and the veil dropped over her once more.