Inferno of Darkness (Order of the Blade #8) Read Online Free Page A
Author: Stephanie Rowe
twenties, well over a hundred years younger than Dante, just at the front edge of his powers, and yet there was an impressive strength within him. A burning in his eyes. "What's your name?"
"Zach Roderick."
"Take your flames down," Dante commanded, testing him.
Zach stared at him, and the flames grew higher, crackling with anger, grief, and loss. A flame leapt to a nearby hut, and the townspeople leapt into well-practiced action with buckets of water, trying to halt the destruction.
"You're too angry," Dante said grimly, disappointment like a sharp knife digging at him. No one was strong enough to do what he needed. No one. "You can't control yourself. You're exactly the type who will fail. To succeed as Order, you have to be cold and hard, above such human weaknesses as love. You have to be stronger than the call of the sheva bond. You aren't what I need. You can't stop yourself now. What would you become under duress?"
"Duress? Fuck that!" Zach lurched to his feet, staggering as he fought to stand, despite the decimation of his body. "My sister and her kids fucking died today! You don't think I understand what's at stake? Well, I do. "
Dante understood Zach's passion, because he had once been the same way, before he'd seen how dangerous it was, before a hundred years in hell had stripped him of everything but the need to survive. Zach was too angry, grieving too deeply, to be able to focus. This battle was too personal to him. Zach would never be strong enough to resist the lure of power. Dante had seen it too many times. He would not invite another into this world only to have them tear down the innocents he had sworn to save. "No. I can't risk it—"
"Mark me!" The flames seemed to be licking right through Zach's skin, burning from the inside out, so fiercely it was almost as if his skin had become translucent, a thin barrier barely containing the fire raging within him. He grabbed Dante's arm. "I can do this! I can do it! "
Dante stared into Zach's eyes, which were literally dancing with flames. The young man was made of fire, a deadly force, but so volatile. Too volatile. He knew what he needed, and it wasn't a warrior who would allow his emotions to control him...or even have the emotions in the first place. "No—"
There is a sword you need.
Dante turned sharply at the rough voice in his head, and saw an old man sitting under a tree at the edge of the village square. "Did you speak to me?" Only Calydons could speak into each other's minds, but the old man sitting there had no brands on his forearms, no mark of a Calydon. But the sword...he'd been dreaming of a sword for weeks, an ancient black sword. Plain. Without any jewels, but always surrounded by swirling mists of a dozen colors. It was the same one he'd seen in his mind before the fight with Louis, the one that had called to him from the mountain. "What do you know about the sword?"
The man looked right at Dante, but didn't acknowledge he had spoken. The sword is your answer. It is searching for you. Open your mind to it. Let it be your guide.
Even as the words were still echoing in his mind, Dante felt a sudden, intense call reverberate through him, drawing his attention to the south. The air thickened, and Dante turned around to stare at the mountain in the distance.
He studied the thick green foliage that covered the lower half, and the sparse, raw rock. His gaze narrowed to a fissure on the northwest side, from which heavy, thick steam was rising. There. He was suddenly filled with the same certainty as before that the sword he sought was in that location. That was where he needed to go. Was the sword the answer he was seeking? His chance to rebuild the Order of the Blade? Was the sword the weapon that his team would need to defeat the rogues?
Shit, no. What was he thinking? There was no more Order. No more Order. He hated his father. He hated the Order. His own emotions burned too fucking deep, and he knew he would be corrupted just as the
"Zach Roderick."
"Take your flames down," Dante commanded, testing him.
Zach stared at him, and the flames grew higher, crackling with anger, grief, and loss. A flame leapt to a nearby hut, and the townspeople leapt into well-practiced action with buckets of water, trying to halt the destruction.
"You're too angry," Dante said grimly, disappointment like a sharp knife digging at him. No one was strong enough to do what he needed. No one. "You can't control yourself. You're exactly the type who will fail. To succeed as Order, you have to be cold and hard, above such human weaknesses as love. You have to be stronger than the call of the sheva bond. You aren't what I need. You can't stop yourself now. What would you become under duress?"
"Duress? Fuck that!" Zach lurched to his feet, staggering as he fought to stand, despite the decimation of his body. "My sister and her kids fucking died today! You don't think I understand what's at stake? Well, I do. "
Dante understood Zach's passion, because he had once been the same way, before he'd seen how dangerous it was, before a hundred years in hell had stripped him of everything but the need to survive. Zach was too angry, grieving too deeply, to be able to focus. This battle was too personal to him. Zach would never be strong enough to resist the lure of power. Dante had seen it too many times. He would not invite another into this world only to have them tear down the innocents he had sworn to save. "No. I can't risk it—"
"Mark me!" The flames seemed to be licking right through Zach's skin, burning from the inside out, so fiercely it was almost as if his skin had become translucent, a thin barrier barely containing the fire raging within him. He grabbed Dante's arm. "I can do this! I can do it! "
Dante stared into Zach's eyes, which were literally dancing with flames. The young man was made of fire, a deadly force, but so volatile. Too volatile. He knew what he needed, and it wasn't a warrior who would allow his emotions to control him...or even have the emotions in the first place. "No—"
There is a sword you need.
Dante turned sharply at the rough voice in his head, and saw an old man sitting under a tree at the edge of the village square. "Did you speak to me?" Only Calydons could speak into each other's minds, but the old man sitting there had no brands on his forearms, no mark of a Calydon. But the sword...he'd been dreaming of a sword for weeks, an ancient black sword. Plain. Without any jewels, but always surrounded by swirling mists of a dozen colors. It was the same one he'd seen in his mind before the fight with Louis, the one that had called to him from the mountain. "What do you know about the sword?"
The man looked right at Dante, but didn't acknowledge he had spoken. The sword is your answer. It is searching for you. Open your mind to it. Let it be your guide.
Even as the words were still echoing in his mind, Dante felt a sudden, intense call reverberate through him, drawing his attention to the south. The air thickened, and Dante turned around to stare at the mountain in the distance.
He studied the thick green foliage that covered the lower half, and the sparse, raw rock. His gaze narrowed to a fissure on the northwest side, from which heavy, thick steam was rising. There. He was suddenly filled with the same certainty as before that the sword he sought was in that location. That was where he needed to go. Was the sword the answer he was seeking? His chance to rebuild the Order of the Blade? Was the sword the weapon that his team would need to defeat the rogues?
Shit, no. What was he thinking? There was no more Order. No more Order. He hated his father. He hated the Order. His own emotions burned too fucking deep, and he knew he would be corrupted just as the