Son of Saints: A Dark YA Fantasy Adventure: Renegade Guardians: Book Two Read online

  SON OF SAINTS

  by Kyra Quinn

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019, Lynsey Farnsworth

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  For permission, contact:

  [email protected]

  ISBN: 9781688299702

  Dedications

  For Sirena, Isadora, and Adriel. May you always remember your parents could be worse.

  For J, my favorite muse. Thank you for the magic you bring to my life.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER ONE

  Desperate Measures

  For in the beginning, only darkness existed. In the end, darkness shall prevail.

  -The Sacred Texts, 1:34

  Viktor Kinzhal had wasted enough time in the fine city of Carramar to learn only two laws mattered to the guards: don’t murder anyone, and if you’re forced to kill, bury the evidence. For the last three weeks, Viktor had accomplished only the latter, but he had succeeded at destroying evidence better than he had imagined possible. It helped no one mourned much for dead monsters.

  He flicked his wrist, sharpening his knife against a rectangular whetstone brick. He emptied outside distractions from his mind and steeled himself for the task at hand.

  Life. So fragile, entire existences extinguished in a heartbeat. He knew a thousand ways to end a man’s life. He’d experimented with many first-hand. But he never relished in killing mortals or Feyfolk. He pitied when their actions left him without a choice.

  Demons and Shadowfey, however, he had much less remorse about slaughtering.

  Metal rattled behind him. Viktor jerked his head towards the creature trapped against an old oak tree. Heavy iron chains wrapped around her hips and breast.

  Shackles engraved with sigils to block demonic abilities pinned her wrists and ankles. Immune to the cold, the creature had wrapped herself in a tiny black dress cut off above her knees. Torn strips of fabric hung from her torso, her breasts and midsection exposed. Dried dirt covered her bruised and beaten flesh. Her head drooped against her chest, rising and falling with her short, ragged breaths.

  The blade’s tip appeared sharp enough. Viktor turned to face his latest victim. No. Not a victim. Victim implied an innocence the monster before him didn’t possess. His eyes settled on his target.

  “Glad you’ve awakened. Torture is much more efficient with a conscious recipient.”

  The wretched woman before him deserved no mercy. None of Daeva’s monsters did. Demons were relentless with their victims, often torturing them to the edge of madness for weeks before ending the agony and slaughtering their prey. Demons murdered Celia and left her body in a dark alleyway with a blade buried in her flesh. A demon Marquis had burned his childhood home and murdered his parents.

  And now Remiel had become their prisoner. How much torture could the angel endure before his body and spirit crumbled?

  The creature hissed, revealing two rows of teeth filed into pointed fangs. Long, thin strands of midnight hair fell over her face, the back still clumped with inky blood where he’d struck her. Two pointed horns poked through her hair on either side. The sliver of moon above bathed her rogue skin in pale light. Glowing red orbs bulged from her eye sockets, the heat of her glare intense enough to prickle Viktor’s skin. Dark veins bulged under her flesh, a clear indication she hadn’t fed.

  Perhaps she’ll break easier. With the number of demons he had tortured in the last week, he didn’t have the patience for another long and pointless interrogation.

  He didn’t know—or care—what rank a succubus held in Shadow City or the Shadowfey circles of Carramar. The second he’d caught a whiff of the sulfur and sweat on her skin, he’d grabbed her arm and dragged her into a darkened alleyway. He beat her skull in with a fist-sized stone before smashing a handful of poppy powder up her nostrils.

  He pressed his hand against her mouth to muffle the sound of her moans and waited for her to lose consciousness. Thrusting her limp body over his shoulder, he carried her into the woodlands, careful to avoid more populated streets where civilians might spot them.

  The moment he reached the timbers’ coverage, he exhaled a sigh. Snow crunched beneath his boots as he marched her deep into the wood. Heat radiated from her body, a welcome contrast to the blistering cold outside. He’d need to rush his investigation. No one would notice her disappearance so long as she never returned. Monsters like her didn’t befriend passives or Feyfolk; they hunted and devoured them.

  “I won’t enjoy this any more than you will,” he said, attempting to shift his voice into a less threatening cadence. “You can spare us both the pain and inform me where to locate the veil.”

  “Do your worst, mutt,” she snarled. “I fear you no more than a bumblebee.”

  He lifted the blade into her vision. “Unlike a bee, I won’t perish after stinging you.”

  The pulse in the side of her neck visibly fluttered, but she raised her chin and wrinkled the narrow bridge of her nose. “Don’t be so sure. We are all aware of what you did. There isn’t a demon alive who doesn’t wish for you to suffer for the creatures you’ve slain. For Andras.”

  Viktor crept closer to his prey. “Andras deserved what he got. He deserved far worse. And you? I’m certain you deserve this, too.”

  He snapped his wrist and sliced the tip of the knife across her bared chest. The beast threw her head backward and yowled. Her flesh sizzled and smoked. Black goo oozed from the fresh wound. A bitter smile took over his mouth. “Did you like that?”

  “The Dark Mother will tear your eyes from your skull and boil them for breakfast.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” He pressed the edge of the blade against her cheek beneath her eye. “Lead me to your Queen or join Andras and the others in death.”

  The succubus spit at his feet. “Stop flirting and finish the job.”

  Viktor gave a soft tsk. He’d already resolved to slit her throat no matter how she responded, but the night was young. He had no reason to hurry the process. “Pity. Such a small piece of information to give your life for.”

  She scoffed. “Unlike your kind, Daeva’s warriors priori
tize loyalty.”

  The steely edge in her tone suggested she wasn’t bluffing; like the other demons he’d caught, she’d sooner perish than tell him anything useful. It would have been a kindness to plunge the knife into her heart and finishing the interrogation. If the succubus swallowed her pride long enough to plead for sympathy, Viktor would have laughed.

  But she didn’t beg for leniency. She did not try to convince Viktor to grant her mercy. Even with her voluptuous body bound to the tree’s trunk with both magic and the strength of iron, she glared at Viktor as if their positions were reversed.

  “Are you going to slay me, or brag about how you could? Doesn’t the elusive Viktor Kinzhal have better things to do?”

  The tiny hairs on the back of Viktor’s neck prickled. “Who told you my name?”

  She barked a laugh. “Everyone in Shadow City knows who you are, wolf. You and your pathetic little gang of friends. Your names are at the top of the Dark Mother’s hit list.”

  Viktor’s shoulders relaxed. She had no more information about him than a name and the rumors of his adventures with Lili and Remiel. The secrets attached to it were his to keep, at least for the time. The longer he went without Remiel by his side, the more it worried him to bear his father’s name.

  “This is a waste,” she added. Black ooze continued to seep from her injuries, the blood glistening like oil beneath the pale moonlight. “The angel is already dead.”

  A fist-sized lump formed in Viktor’s throat. His heart pounded against his ribcage. No. She was lying. He’d know if Remiel died.

  He raised the knife to the curve of her neck. “Thank you for your time.”

  The succubus opened her lips to answer, but the snarky comeback never came. Viktor plunged the dagger into the base of her collar and twisted. His hand flew to her open cavity to muffle her cries.

  He watched for the glow of her eyes to dull, then pushed the knife deeper once more and twisted for safe measure before pulling it out. Sticky black blood ran down the silver blade towards his hand. Sulfur and charred flesh overpowered the mossy scent of the wood. He cleaned the blade on the leaf of an elm tree and shoved it back into his scabbard. He shifted to leave, but the rustling of leaves from behind brought him to a halt.

  Viktor spun on his heel and snatched a dagger from its sheath strapped to his chest. His feet locked into the ground as he braced himself for a fight. Only a gentle evening breeze answered. He replaced the knife as a snowy white fox stepped through the shadows of the trees.

  Viktor took a step back, arms raised. His heart raced as he waited for the fox to pounce. Instead, the creature bowed its head and whimpered.

  He gave the fox a quick once-over. No obvious injuries stood out. He crept closer, and the creature raised her head to lock her sharp amber eyes on him. Gina. How had she tracked him? And what did her arrival mean?

  “What is it, Gina?” Viktor tiptoed closer and outstretched his hand. Up close, he recognized the lomri as well as he’d remember his own reflection. But he hadn’t crossed her path in years. She cocked her head to watch him, her stance submissive. Her fur mirrored the snow beneath her paws. She moaned once more, her voice high and urgent.

  Gina raised her head and jerked it to the woods behind her. Another whine escaped her closed mouth, and she pawed at the ground. Her round eyes burned into his as if to say, ‘Follow me.’

  Viktor’s brows furrowed as he bent down to stroke Gina between her pointed ears. “How have you not shifted yet? This is the coldest winter in ages.”

  Gina whimpered and scratched at the soil once more, impatient.

  Viktor rubbed his elbow. “Right. We can catch up after I speak with Savina. Come, girl. Let us find the banshee’s wood.”

  * * *

  Viktor followed the snowy fox through the thick white wood, careful to keep his pace a few feet behind and not scare the creature. He didn’t require much guidance from Gina; his feet still remembered the path to Savina’s tree as if he’d dropped in for a visit the day before. Sticks and soil crunched beneath his boots, the ground hard and frozen. Tiny specks of snow floated down from the starless sky. Towering oak trees hid the small sliver of moonlight. Whispers danced in the wind as he chased behind Gina.

  One of his oldest—and only living—friends, Savina had cared for the little lomri since she’d found the kit wandering alone through her forest one winter. Though a banshee and a lomri were unlikely friends, Gina and Savina had spent decades in each other’s company. When Gina’s human form returned each winter, she’d hole away in Savina’s tree and, as Savina affectionately put it, ‘wait for her legs to wear off.’

  He spotted Savina before he recognized the circular clearing she’d nested her home in the center of. She stood with her hands locked on her hips, her face as pale as the moonlight. Thin, dark strands of hair covered the left side of her face. He approached, but she didn’t greet him. Her arms hung limp, her head dropped against her chest.

  “Is everything all right?” Viktor called, though he knew damn well it wasn’t.

  Savina shook her head, her expression grim. “Come inside. We can speak with more freedom.”

  The request didn’t fill him with any additional reassurance, but Viktor followed Savina across the snowy clearing. They stopped in front of the widest oak trunk, the bark aged and weathered. Savina tapped the tree until the wood swung open with a creak. She ushered Viktor inside and down the dark spiral stairs, pressing the door closed behind her.

  In their decades of friendship, Viktor couldn’t recall a time Savina had called on him to visit. What had gone wrong enough to earn him a summon from her pet? Had Savina had a new vision of their fate? Did she glimpse a terrifying new truth? A shudder ran down his spine.

  For a Fey with the power to predict death and tragedy in every corner of Astryae, Savina had spent most of her time tucked inside of a modest forest filled with oak trees and faeries. She had no desire to share her talents with others, let alone make pleasant small-talk with them at the market. Few banshees remained in Astryae. Dubbed the harbingers of doom by sailors in Mulgrave decades ago, many of her kind perished during the Age of Atonement. Viktor didn’t blame her for avoiding the rest of society. Only a masochist would wish to spend time around people with such open animosity towards her unpredictable abilities.

  Savina gestured towards a few flattened square pillows in the center the sparse single room with a sweeping gesture. The familiar scent of jasmine and smoke hung in the air. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

  He bit back the urge to snort. For a man his size, the claustrophobic space Savina called home was anything but comfortable. Though the hollowed tree stretched upwards further than he could see, he could cross the entire width of her modest home in two strides. For a split second, he envied her slight build. The narrow space made his lungs struggle for air.

  “Is everything all right?” he asked instead.

  “May I please borrow your hand?”

  Viktor tensed. “Savi, I—”

  “Please,” she repeated, her onyx eyes pleading as she reached her pale, wrinkled hand out for his. “I will explain after.”

  He hesitated, his heart pounding against his chest. For the first time since the night he met Savina, he sympathized with the people who feared banshees. Whatever dark vision of the future Savina had observed, he wasn’t sure he wished to know the details. Savina’s unprompted visions often dealt in death. What if he’d already failed Remiel? What if his own death was imminent?

  Savina apparently tired of waiting. She lunged forward and snatched his hand into her own. She pressed his palm against her chest and closed her eyes as a sharp tingle flowed through his arm and into his body. Her touch burned as if she’d pressed the red-hot tip of a branding iron into the center of his palm.

  Savina’s head snapped back with a jerk. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and when she spoke, another voice Viktor didn’t recognize entwined with her own. “Seven. Seven. Seven. Once the seven seals break,
nightmares will roam the land of the living. Only seven can defeat the seven. Sssseeeveeen. The son of saints and the daughter of darkness will unravel the strings of fate, but at what cost? What cost, what cost. All magic comes at a cost. How many will die so they may live? Ssseeven, seven, the seven must stop the seven or Astryae will perish in holy fire. When the seven seals break, the end times will sstrike. The rivers will run red with the blood of innocents. Balance. The universe demands balance!”

  Her body shuddered and spasmed. Savina collapsed to the floor, only the whites of her eyes visible while her body thrashed and convulsed. Viktor shouted her name, but Savina didn’t respond. Her movements ceased, her body rigid and still.

  “Savi?” he whispered again, kneeling next to her. He moved to touch her but froze mid-air with his hand hovering over her as her eyes fluttered open.

  “My apologies,” she said, her voice hoarse. “How…unexpected.”

  That was one word for it. “When you spoke, another voice did too. Who was it?”

  Savina closed her eyes and gave her head a slow shake. “I cannot say with certainty, but I believe it was the Archangel of death.”

  “Archon.” Viktor’s blood turned to ice. Cold sweat coated his palms. Remiel had mentioned the angel only a handful of times over the years, but never in a positive light. “Seven what? Seven gods?”

  Savina’s eyes snapped open. A small tear ran down her cheek. Thin trails of blood dripped from her nostrils. She dropped his hands. “I don’t know.”

  “What did you see? Who did you speak to?”

  She wiped her nose on the back of her arm, exhaling a shaky sigh as she stared down at her blood-smeared arm. “I don’t know. I didn’t recognize the town, but I haven’t left this forest in decades. Not convinced it matters.”

  His body went cold. “Why?”

  “There won’t be much left of it when the end days arrives. The war had reduced most of the buildings to rubble. The people appeared long gone, but the fires did so much damage it’s impossible to tell if they evacuated or—”