I love, love, love these two books and you should too! Warning: spoilers for Days of Blood and Starlight, if you haven't read it yet.
If you haven't read either of them - do it!
This story is set five minutes after the end of Days of Blood and Starlight. It's what I want to happen...
The Fury of Angels and the Wrath of Beasts
Karou is restless, her skin too tight, her blood too fast, her muscles wanting to run or jump or something, her head wanting to escape out of itself. She's known the eve of battle before, back in the other time when she was Madrigal, but as Karou the tension lights little fires in her, undouseable and sleep-preventing.
And none of that is helped by Akiva's presence. By Akiva's regard. She knows he watches her, because she watches him. Though her eyes look away, they return and tonight she simply doesn't have the will to stop them. This cave is darkness and shadows anyway - nothing in it is as splendid as him. The seraph with tiger eyes who tried to kill her, the man she fought on the ground and in the air. When her magic made him sick she took him to her home to recover. He had been a beautiful enigma to her, a face and body and spirit to fall in wonder with. But he was soldier in a war she'd never heard of that he sought to end. He had destroyed her family. Later she found he had sought to destroy her race. It should have destroyed her love for him.
But he is the bright flame watching her from yards away tonight, the leader of an army he has allied to hers. He has switched sides, and will fight his own people, for hers. If Karou is hope, Akiva is strength. Valor. Experience. Oh, and unbearably, he is heat. Heat.
Karou would shy away from that even as it draws her. Tonight, with the prospect of the very sky falling in tomorrow morning, she is agitated beyond measure by Akiva's golden-eyed warmth. She needs to focus, draw in to herself. To one side of her Thiago appears at rest, graceful and disturbing even in repose. Zuzana has curled herself into Mik, with the tip of Issa's tail curving protectively over the two of them. Softness and slumber fill the cavern, sighs and snores as soldiers get much-needed sleep in preparation for the war ahead, but Karou's wakefulness denies sleep. Observed by Akiva, she can't stand the confines any more, and rises, walking to the entrance.
Unknown to Karou, Thiago watches. Momentarily he considers following her. Not considers - he will follow her, but before he can stand the angel has gone in her footsteps. An aching despair settles over the White Wolf, not that it hasn't been there ever since his transformation. Ziri made the decision in a blink, to give up being Kirin in order that the Chimaera would still have their leader, and he knows it was what he had to do. But he hates this body. He abhors it with a loathing that makes him want to take a weapon to himself. The very least of it is that the Wolf is wingless. There is a greater strength in his lean, sleek size than there was in Ziri's former self, and there is grace too despite the extra weight, but Ziri is finding extreme difficulty in the loss of two limbs that have been a part of him for twenty-nine years. The frustration of being earthbound is probably helping him maintain the air of barely-veiled menace expected from Thiago. But he is the General of a flying army, going into battle against a flying enemy. What use is a savage and skilled warrior who cannot reach his foes? He will have to direct, shouting, from the ground.
And without vanity, Ziri knows that he had been beautiful to Karou. Madrigal had been beautiful to him, and in his form Karou could see what she had been, Before. The dancer's gait, the elegance, the slenderness and height of the Kirin, living for the last time, in Ziri. He mourns the way Karou had sometimes gazed at him with a longing that was for her past self and her entire species, not him as an individual. But those soft and yearning glances served to nurture his gigantic hope that he could win her heart. She still looks at him with tenderness now, but she struggles to mask revulsion. Of all the bodies his soul could have been re-housed in, Ziri inhabits the body that once executed her. And on the dreadful, dreadful night of his own death and resurrection, this body had committed a further act of violence and degradation upon Karou. She has never spoken of it to Ziri, and he doesn't know any more than what he saw. Karou, half-naked, ferocious in rage, with bruises and blood streaming down over her, and her knife in Thiago's neck. This body, the White Wolf's body, cast from her and collapsed, her blood in its mouth, deep tracks from her nails scouring its cheeks - and its weapon of hideous offence bared, exposed, out in the open. Maybe Thiago hadn't succeeded in raping Karou, maybe she'd managed to kill him first, but the egregious harm he'd intended was clear. Ziri's black misery is inextricable from the knowledge of what this body means to Karou. He will fight in the war, and he has no reason to want to live beyond it. Not unless Karou has the time to fashion him a new vessel, envelope, sleeve, so that this monstrosity can be destroyed.
And how will Karou have the time, amongst bloodshed and carnage, to resurrect Ziri in a body acceptable?
It's cooler outside, on this fateful night, cold air wafting from the ice far below the shelf of the Kirin caves. Green, earthy scents come to Karou, oddly reassuring, reminding her of the home she lived in during her before. Seven years of her first life in this tranquil place until she was orphaned. Briefly, the peace of it surrounds her now as she sighs and walks towards the river.
She is followed. She knew she would be. Less than a minute has passed when her skin tells her Akiva is near.
"Karou?" his voice asks, as soft and deep as the night around. Before she broke the wishbone he'd told her she would hate him, and in her unknowing, that hatred was an impossibility. But he'd been right and for months her hate had sustained her, alongside her efforts to keep the Chimaera army replenished. As long as she hadn't seen him, she hated him. Yet it had taken little more than a single reappearance for that hate to become questionable, for her to realise in confusion that it co-existed with a love that was undeniable, essential. Elemental. She was his, simply. The chain of events the two of them had set off were catastrophic, but unintentional. He had slaughtered her people, she had built warriors from teeth and pain and magic to slaughter his. Blood was on both their hands. And on a dark, quiet night with nothing about it to foreshadow what would be a storm of unimaginable chaos within a matter of hours, Akiva stands beside her. He asks for nothing more than to be under the same sky, breathe the same air.
"Do you believe we have a chance?" she asks him, and she isn't sure if she means their depleted and makeshift army, or if she means herself, chimaera, and him, seraph.
"Yes, Karou. If I didn't I wouldn't be here," he answers gravely, and she doesn't know what he means either.
She's had enough of hate though, if they're to die tomorrow.
His wings have a glow all their own, and she's unaware of the light they cast on her face as she turns to him. Above them, Ellai watches and waits. Perhaps she has a blessing? They're secret lovers and assassins both, after all. But Akiva doesn't know Karou killed the leader of the Chimaera army, and Karous doesn't know Akiva killed the leader of the Seraph Host. The night is full of secrets.
"You asked me once to remember that you love me," Karou whispers, the goldenness from his wings lending a warmth to the paleness of her face.
Akiva's breath catches, because yes, he did ask her that.
"Do you still?"
His answer is to place his hands on her shoulders, even though she might throw him from her. To slide one of them beneath her heavy hair, the other to her cheek. To frown searchingly into her black, black eyes, then let his glance slip to her mouth. To swallow heavily. To mutter, "Yes, Karou. As long as my heart beats, it beats for you."
Karou can't touch him, not properly, because she doesn't have her gloves. The palms of her hands are weapons which have wounded him again and again, and now will be no exception if she isn't careful. She's aware though that her words can hurt him too, as can her eyes. It occurs to her suddenly that he has never attacked her in the ways that she has attacked him. Swiftly, her arms are reaching high, as he is so tall, so that her hands meet one another behind his head. She can't pull him to her, which is what she wants to do, but with a quick inhalation he leans down. After the waves of loathing that have rolled off her directed at him for months, he's unsure enough that he holds himself back. Karou doesn't. She can't. They shared one kiss, back in Marrakesh, that set her on fire and left her empty and gasping when he ended it.
"Don't stop this time," she murmurs, as her mouth reaches for his.
Akiva is powerless to deny her, to deny himself, as they connect. Sparks fly. The rightness of her texture and taste stop his breathing. She is his love Madrigal, but she is not. She is Karou, wild, fierce, magical, azure-haired Karou. Painfully thin in his arms, mouth alive under his, heart beating madly against his chest, he kisses her until his lungs cry, and he seizes air by moaning. What is she doing to him? What is she encouraging him to do to her?
In direct disobedience to her order, Akiva draws away. Karou appears to be giving herself to him, but he doesn't understand. He wants the words, the absolute. The truth. They're both afraid for the morning, knowing the impending bloodbath could rend asunder the human world. A thousand years of war on Eretz is a tragedy - to transport such conflict to an unsuspecting world is indefensible. But he wants Karou to be kissing him because she loves him, not because of the enormity of what they will undertake tomorrow.
"Please," he says, begging her to understand. "Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?"
"Akiva. Akiva. Akiva."
She says his name in his own language, she pronounces it in the Chimaeran voice, and lastly in Czech. "Brimstone is gone. Twiga too. And Kishmish. So many more of my kind, and look at your hands! They bear the marks of my losses, your victories. But war makes monsters of us all. I know you would wish every death undone. I know that you did what you did in the hope of bringing about peace. And when that peace didn't happen you assembled an army to lead against the warmongers because you believe in the possibility of a future that is just and unified and harmonious. We have the same goal, Akiva, and that exonerates me."
"Exonerates you?"
Her voice is quiet now, but her expression, her demeanour, everything about Karou declares her next words.
"Yes, because - because once I knew you were still alive, I would have come for you, eventually. Even though you were the enemy, and loving you made me hate myself. I know that I love you utterly, with all my soul. With everything, every particle that I am. It's alchemical, it's shattering, it's - "
Akiva doesn't find out what else it is as Karou is on her toes, and his head dips. This time they don't connect so much as collide. Whatever words she's speaking go into his mouth rather than his ears, his heart rather than his brain. Madrigal is gone, Madrigal is here, Karou is Madrigal but she is not, she is Karou and she is a silken girl urging him to the ground, pulling him over her and wrapping all her limbs around him.
When he joins with her he is careful and gentle, not knowing. Karou is young, only seventeen. He's probably her first. When her body admits his easily and she evinces no indication of pain, he is the one who is hurt. But this takes place in a flash. His brain isn't disengaged from his body for very long, his thoughts separate from sensation for only moments. Karou undulates, with devastating surety, and an electricity of bliss jolts him.
And they are both gasping, joined until they fall apart. Love pleasure rapture pleasure love. Her body is different to the last time he felt this, but he is home.
As for Karou, she finds that what she shared with Kaz was inessential, as Brimstone had told her. Akiva makes her feel complete. There would be no more war anywhere, ever, if everyone knew what it was to feel like this. She raises herself over Akiva, hands pressed flat to the ground on either side of his head, his beautiful head, as she kisses him and coaxes him to her again. Her angel is willing, able, and wildly happy, hands at her hips not to guide her, just to feel.
Afterwards, dazed, drugged, they move to the river. Each of them wants to keep the scent of the other, but they're wary. The beast army, particularly their leader, will be disturbed that Beast Bane's odor is all over their resurrectionist. All over.
Naked, Karou slips quietly into the water, and as quietly out again, her garments drying her as she slips into them.
"Karou," Akiva murmurs in a low tone barely louder than a thought, "There is something we must do. You or me, or both of us. If he's not killed in combat, we must kill Thiago."
And Akiva's heart nearly stops altogether in his chest as Karou's head whirls to face him, hair an ultramarine blaze in the light of two moons, whipped fast and falling over her shoulders.
"No!" she says urgently.
Shock makes him stammer.
"B - but - "
Years ago Thiago tortured Akiva and enjoyed it, but that isn't why Akiva wants him dead. It's because the marks of Thiago's brutal hands were on Karou only days ago. Once the White Wolf had her beheaded; recently he has physically abused her. For that, Akiva will put a blade through the Wolf's chest.
But Karou's head shakes. "No. No. He's too important."
Important? That bloodthirsty, sadistic brute? Akiva thinks.
"In fact - " Karou continues, as the seraph strains to catch her voice. "I came out here to do something... You could help me. I need to tithe."
"Tithe?" he asks. "For what?"
Karou produces the little pouch attached to her belt and extracts simple instruments. Clamps. She pushes her sleeve up.
"No," Akiva says quickly. "Use me."
It will be quicker and easier if she does, because it will leave both her hands free, even though she doesn't want to hurt Akiva. But he has offered.
"This is for a wish, but it's not a small wish," she warns him as she makes ready.
"I would take any pain if it would prevent your suffering," is his reply.
When Brimstone performed this particular ritual he put the magic into coins, as metal can hold magic indefinitely. Karou hasn't any coins. However she picked up a pebble at the river's edge that was the right size, and it will have to do, since this magic will be used very soon. Akiva bears the pain without a sound, eyes steadfastly on hers as she takes what she needs to make magic of sufficient magnitude. When it's done, and the clamps put away again she kisses Akiva where she hurt him, on his arm. And where she hurt him more, over his heart. And then his perfect lips, which smile with her name.
They return to the cavern, his arm around her, but hers at her sides, despite her fervent wishing that it could be otherwise. Her hamsas debilitate him, though she would will that they didn't. He is essential. Her heart already knew it, though after the wishbone she fought the knowledge. Now her body knows it. There is such a thing.
Probably everyone will be asleep, but just in case, Akiva conjures himself a glamor of invisibility, so that Karou appears alone. She lies next to Thiago, though careful that several yawning feet, chasms wide, fall between them. The softest glimmer suggests a false dawn at the other side of the cavern as a recumbent angel appears where there wasn't one a moment ago.
Nightmares have troubled Karou in the past, but they leave her in peace now, letting her drift, as Thiago lies wretched. His sensitive wolf nostrils can detect the trace of angel-scent lingering in her hair.
Early, early the next morning, Karou wakens Thiago with a nudge, beckoning him outside.
"I have something for you," she tells him under the pink sky.
"A pebble?" he asks, confused.
"A gavriel. Well, not exactly, but the best I could do under the circumstances."
Ziri wonders if a gavriel is strong enough to grant a wish that Karou would be safe. Or a wish that she would be safe and that she would love him instead of Akiva.
But that is not why she made him a gavriel.
"A wish, Karou?" he says.
"I'll do it for you, Ziri," she whispers, eyes closing under the fan of inky lashes.
The next thing he knows, Ziri's shoulders itch and burn, his whole body shudders, and his back is burst open by pointed spines that project upwards then bend like elbows to sweep to his ankles. Linking the spines are membranes of leathery hide. The agony of his split skin bows his backbone in contortions until it settles into a dull ache, which is nothing to his new exhilaration.
"Oh, Karou! Karou," he exclaims, raising his wings and flexing them, exploring how they move and respond, what they can do. They can enfold a blue-haired girl who stands within their circle, her hands to the crook of his neck.
"Ziri, I'm sorry I can't love you the way you want me to, but I do love you," she says.
"It's almost enough," he answers sadly.
At the cave mouth, Akiva can't hear them, but he can see. Karou allowing the White Wolf so close to her, and even touching him with the hands that can't touch Akiva. And he sees what he, Akiva, tithed for. Without flight, Thiago was verging on being ineffective, unless any seraphs decided to give up their advantage and challenge him on the ground. Unlikely. Now, his legendary brutality will be unleashed full force. It makes sense. What doesn't make sense is the tenderness. No sense at all.
Karou steps back and Thiago takes to the air, swooping and diving easily, as if he has had wings all his life.
Karou returns to the caverns, passing Akiva, her expressive eyes brimming with unspoken words. Her fingertips brush him, then she's past and gone.
Morning continues to arrive, the dual armies stir, and today the human world will be shaken by the fury of angels and the wrath of beasts.
.
.
.
I hope you like my story. All thanks to Laini Taylor for these wonderful characters and this amazing world she has created.