Demon Lost (High Demon #1)(55)
Author: Connie Suttle

"Dude, I don’t think this breaks the primary rules," Drake grinned at his brother. Both disappeared.

The warlock was so weary he barely remembered his name. Shifting from one body to the next, with the resulting residual memories, had a multitude of names crowding his mind. What he clung to now was the knowledge of the spells—the ones to keep him alive and skipping from body to body to remain that way, leaving dying bodies in his wake to satisfy the growing demands of five crazed monsters.

The warlock couldn’t put his finger on the cause of the insanity, but he slept with one eye open at all times. He’d watched while Ansen and Morsen Strand, followed by Hendars Klar, had all disappeared down thick, scaly throats. He couldn’t escape the Ra’Ak, either—they watched him closely, expecting him to keep their hunger for young flesh sated.

What he needed, the warlock decided, was to perform more forbidden spellwork. Perhaps he might get away from his self-appointed wardens if he tapped a core. That would give him a tremendous boost in power. When he’d first thought to ally himself with these creatures, he couldn’t have imagined the consequences he now faced. He realized it was likely due to his skipping from the bodies before allowing the monsters to devour them, but how could anyone have known? It was an experiment that worked, until the terrible side effects had come. Now, to decide on an appropriate world to tap the core. The warlock searched his mind, smiling a nasty smile. One world owed him, he thought. And his monsters could get him on and off without notice. Yes, that one would do nicely.

"We go," the warlock announced to the five, who’d just fed and were now back in their humanoid forms.

"Where?" The one who still held verbal capability asked.

"Put up your strongest shields," the warlock smiled. "We travel to Karathia."

Chapter 13

"There’s some kind of a disturbance around Didge. I want you to go there and search for the source," Wylend pointed a finger at Wyatt. "And if you find the cause, I expect you to provide punishment."

"Em-pah, punishment is yours to hand down."

"Wyatt, do not argue with me. As my heir, it is time you handled some of our more difficult situations," Wylend snapped. "Now go. I expect a full report when you return."

Wyatt wanted to grumble as he folded to the small village that housed perhaps three hundred witches and warlocks. These preferred the old ways and were mostly old themselves, the youngest at least thirty thousand years of age. Wyatt didn’t know what to say to them—Wylend had received a brief call for help through mindspeech and then nothing.

When Wyatt set his feet on the narrow, stone street, the village looked deserted. That shouldn’t be—bread in the bakery was burning, too—Wyatt could smell it. Why would they walk away from their business? It didn’t make sense. Wyatt put up his strongest shield as he cautiously stepped down the narrow lane between archaic shops.

"Help me," someone called weakly. Wyatt began to run.

"Something’s wrong!" Lissa shouted, just as the Vampire Council was seated for a meeting. Flavio jerked his head in her direction; he knew what that meant, even if the others didn’t. Lissa always knew. She disappeared in front of the others, causing gasps and shouts among the crowd. It couldn’t be helped; something or someone needed Lissa’s attention immediately.

The man looked very ill to Wyatt, but he couldn’t get a reading through his heaviest shield. He’d found the man sitting on the stoop of the butcher shop, his head bowed. His clothing looked ragged, too, as if he’d been in some sort of conflict. Where were the others? People should be all around.

"What is wrong?" Wyatt called out, approaching slowly.

"We were attacked," the man lifted his head to stare at Wyatt. "Now, all are dead."

The kitchen on Beliphar was filled with images splashed on one wall. Comp-vids littered the island as they projected scene after scene of child kidnappings and murders. The last were the images from Boodreatis—the inert bodies of teens littered the floor, with dashes of adults, here and there. I was adding one final comp-vid, that held a pinpointed map of the solar systems attacked and in what order, starting on Bardelus. Then I went backward from there, searching for data on missing children prior to that point. What I found not only disturbed me, it frightened me so badly I went weak at the knees. I needed to talk to Teeg. And to Astralan or some other warlock who knew about soul-shifting. I was shaking already when the terror came over me, dropping me to the floor while I screamed in horror and pain.

"I can help you." Wyatt lowered his shield and reached toward the man. To Wyatt’s eyes, it looked as if the man’s skin were flaking and sloughing away. Had he been burned? What was causing this? Wyatt couldn’t tell without putting his hands on the patient.

"Would you? I don’t feel well," the man muttered. Wyatt nodded, moving close enough to place his hands on the injured man. As Wyatt used his healing ability to search out a cause of the disease, he closed his eyes as he often did, searching inwardly to track the source. He missed the pupils in the eyes becoming slitted instead of round, and when the skin roughened under Wyatt’s hands, Wyatt was already screaming in pain.

Every part of a Ra’Ak’s body is poison while in serpent form, and Wyatt had both hands placed firmly on the man’s shoulders as he changed. Wyatt jerked and spasmed beneath the Ra’Ak’s monstrous body, no longer able to scream—the poison was too strong and virulent. The Ra’Ak lifted his head and roared his victory, just as Lissa appeared. Without wasting time, she went to mist and swept inside the Ra’Ak’s brain, blowing her mist outward. The Ra’Ak’s head exploded as he roared his last breath.

Wylend knew his heir was dead the moment he folded to Didge. Amara, there before him, was weeping and moaning in her grief. Her only child—the one she’d waited for so long, was dead in her arms, killed by Ra’Ak poison. Griffin sat where the Ra’Ak had previously sat, had he but known it, his head in his hands. Lissa stood nearby, tears streaming down her cheeks. She wanted to comfort Amara but was unsure of her welcome. Wylend, escorted by Erland, went to his knees and wept as well.

"You gave him prophecy, and Wylend chose to persecute you for it," Nefrigar had come to lift me off the floor. "At times, we can only say what we can. What the listener does with the information is out of our hands, Lara’Kayan." I was only hearing half his words; I knew Wyatt was dead. Somehow, I’d felt him die, in terrible pain and alone. I wept harder at the thought, Nefrigar’s loosely-woven tunic gripped in my hands as my tears drenched the fabric. "Little one, it pains me to hear you weep," he said softly. "Cry this out, and I will place the healing sleep."