Drake of Tanith (Chosen Soul) by Heather Killough-Walden

Author:Heather Killough-Walden [Killough-Walden, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-12-21T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

At once, Raven’s massive wings flapped against the air. The sound was admittedly beautiful. She spun before Drake, maneuvering herself with an expertise that came with her devil blood.

Tri-colored eyes glared at him in the moonlight. Her fangs were bared. “I can smell his blood on you,” she hissed. “What did you do to him?” she demanded.

Drake’s heart hammered. He could see the worry in Raven’s eyes, and jealousy hot and hard ramrodded through his already burning core. “What did you expect, princess?” he asked, speaking the words through fangs of his own.

“Mercy, Drake” Raven yelled as her wings beat the air again to keep her aloft. “I expect someone of your abilities to show mercy! He was only trying to help me!”

Drake’s gaze narrowed. “He knew what he was doing.”

“No!” Raven insisted, and Drake felt a wave of cold wash over him. Her magic was slipping from her grip. “He did not! He had no idea who you are – who your father is!”

Drake hesitated then. He didn’t know what to say. She was right. And he also didn’t care.

Worst of all, his sudden silence was as good as a confession. Drake had left Adonides alive – but Raven wouldn’t believe so. Not for a second.

“You killed him!” she accused, just as he knew she would.

Drake’s fury rushed ahead of him. He wanted to scream, “Yes!” and let her think he’d done the deed. He wanted to be evil in that moment – to let his father win. Whatever it would take to give him the edge he required to win with Raven Grey. Because she was making him insane. And there was only so much more he could take.

The sound of a horn suddenly split the night, and all wicked, horrible thought fled from his mind. The horn was long and low and raised chills across his dark skin. It was an omen, a promise, an evil cry of deadly purpose.

Across from him, suspended in the air by her own glorious wings, Raven’s expression changed. Her eyes widened, her lips parted, and the anger fled from her features. She instinctively knew. She’d never heard the horn before in her short life – but she knew. Maybe it was her Chosen soul and the many lives it had lived in the past. Or maybe it was the inherent wrongness of this particular horn and what it meant. Regardless, Raven’s expression now mirrored his own. She was terrified.

He had to get her out of there.

The horn blew again, and Raven tried to cover her ears. It wouldn’t work; he knew that. Nothing could withstand the sound of the Horned One’s warning cry.

The Hunt had begun. Lord Oberon and his hounds would take everything in their path, human and non-human alike. All who heard the horn would be faced with a terrible choice: either join the Hunt – or become its prey. As the son of Asmodeus, he possessed a touch of immunity that others wouldn’t have, but even he would fall to the power of the Hunt eventually.

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