Aithen: Condemned, #5

By Ava Benton

Aithen's having headaches that aren't headaches. How's he supposed to tell Olivia the truth about what's happening to him? Haunted by memories he shouldn't be remembering, memories of slaughtering of monsters. He'll never be clean of the sins he's committed. One monster. Himself.

 

The second Olivia knows who he really is, he's sure she'll recoil in disgust and hate him. To prevent that, he does the only thing he can. He removes himself form her life and leaves his heart—and hers—shattered.

 

Olivia has a secret. Well, maybe more than one. Right now, she's dealing with a beast that's escaped from the depths of hell and has her in its sights. All alone, with Aithen far removed from her life, she's simply trying to survive. Things don't seem to be too dire. Until they do.

• Language: English
• Publisher: ABP
• Release date: Apr 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201366698

Book preview

Aithen

AITHEN

CONDEMNED

AVA BENTON

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Afterword

Copyright © 2022 by Ava Benton

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

1

OLIVIA

Another sneezing fit overtook me. I cursed, turning away and letting out four sneezes that left my ears needing to pop. Damn dust. I waved the plume of dust motes away from my face. Not that it did any good.

Yeah, crazy that there’s dust in the Archives, Cyrene commented from beside me. It’s not like there’s centuries of books and scrolls and other shit piled in here. She shoved a book back onto the shelf with more force than necessary, sending three more tumbling off on the opposite side. Her eyes narrowed, flaring violet. She walked around the shelf, picked them up, then sank to the hardwood floor, holding her head in her hands.

I peered at her through the gaps in the books. What was with her today? She’d been struggling since Carridan killed Rik. But she’d told me a while ago she’d moved on from Rik’s death. Whatever had gotten under her skin these last few weeks, this was something different. I glanced to my left, expecting to see Morgan. She’d been down here with us most of the day. If anyone might be able to give me a little more insight into Cyrene’s emotions, it’d be here.

But Morgan was absent. She’d wandered off again, and I hadn’t even noticed. That woman. Her curiosity was going to get her into trouble one day. Ever since I introduced her to the Archives, she’d been running around this place like a kid let loose in a toy shop. Not as if I blamed her.

The Archives wasn’t merely a structure filled with books. No one person had ever mapped every room in it. Doing so was impossible when rooms and staircases moved around, or new ones appeared, leading to spaces that weren’t there before. The Archives was beyond massive. I’d worked and lived in them for nearly two hundred years now and still came across areas that left me in awe. There was magic here, too—ancient magic. The Archives had a personality, and it didn’t hesitate to show itself when the need arose.

In a sense, this place was alive, every room, every shelf and hallway. The power of the Archives ran through each stone and plank of wood that had created it.

I rested my hand on the shelving nearby, absorbing the rush of magic that vibrated beneath my fingertips. The room we currently occupied was lined with dark cherry wood shelving, each one filled to the brim with leather-bound volumes. Standing in the center, forming a triangle, were more shelves. Overhead, the ceiling was painted in a night sky mural, complete with constellations and a crescent moon. Each room in this part of the Archives was dedicated to a different phase. The light came from lanterns lit with magical flames that weren’t a threat to the delicate items stored in this ancient location. The Archives was an extensive collection of magical tomes, artifacts, scrolls, spell books, pretty much anything supernatural. All of it was looked over by a handful of Keepers like me. It was good work most of the time.

Then were days like this one when I could really have used a break.

It’d been nearly three months since the ritual to open the doorway to the Infernal Rift was stopped. The Archives was still taking its annoyance out on me for causing such a mess those few weeks when I was tearing through this place like a hurricane trying to find any information I could on Carridan’s plans. It had voiced its opinion in the only way it knew how: making more of a mess for me to clean up. I’d promised the other Keepers I’d get everything put back the way it was and catch up on the rest of the work I’d neglected. Not that I truly minded. I could spend all day long simply reorganizing a room of books and be quite content.

Back in the beginning, I’d been less happy with my lot in life. I hadn’t asked to be a Keeper. The title had fallen on me, and I’d had no choice but to accept my new position, considering how much worse my punishment could’ve been. Almost one hundred years ago to the day, I was granted freedom to leave the Archives if I chose. What was the point when I’d made this place my home?

Then again, if I didn’t spend so much time in the Archives, I wouldn’t have missed that epic fight against Carridan’s cult. By the time Cyrene’s message had reached me deep in the Archives, it was all over. It would’ve been an excellent chance to use my magic to its full extent again. I had no doubt there’d be another chance in the future.

Evil rarely stayed quiet for too long.

The warm, flickering light of the lanterns danced off gold inset covers and several glass cases. I knew this place as well as any witch who worked here, maybe even more at this point. Not much else to do except explore when you weren’t allowed to leave. Not that it lacked excitement. The Archives tended to shake things up on occasion, which meant more work for the Keepers. I never minded being kept on my toes. Besides, I was more at home amongst these shelves than I was anywhere else. Being in a coven didn’t work for me. That’s what happens when there are so few left of your kind that no one truly understands the power inside you or is willing to accept when you’ve chosen a darker road.

Like Eliza, I had been betrayed by the person I trusted most. No one knew that part of my past aside from the oldest Keepers here. Not even Cyrene had figured out that troubled part of my history. I knew she had her suspicions I was the witch who’d been involved in that horrid tragedy. I planned on keeping that secret tucked away if possible.

If I continued to hang around a certain demon prince, that wasn’t likely to remain the case.

I fumbled with the books in my arms but managed to keep them from falling. My clumsiness didn’t go unnoticed. What? I asked Cyrene, avoiding her piercing stare.

Nothing, she said, finally getting to her feet. I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.

I could say the same to you, I shot back, shelving the books, then going to the table to grab another stack needing to be put away. You look like you’re ready to kill someone one second, then break down and cry the next. That’s not like you.

She walked around the shelf, running her hands along the weathered spines, her violet skirt trailing behind her on the floor. I’m fine.

Scowling at her through the books, I caught her eyes. Uh-huh, sure you are.

She shook her head, turning her back to me. I returned the books to the table and walked around to Cyrene. Her eyes flared violet every few seconds, then returned to normal. The tattoos on her body were pulsing as if she was struggling to keep her power in check. The tattoos covering me were of a similar style to hers. Marks we’d been born with, thanks to our bloodlines. Marks that designated us as having ancient power reaching back centuries. If Cyrene suddenly lost control, it wouldn’t bode well for anyone around her. Her tattoos pulsed brighter than before, then dimmed again.

Are you sure this doesn’t have to do with Rik? I asked, though I already knew the answer.

Cyrene’s lips lifted in a soft smile. No, as I’ve told you before a hundred times. He’s at peace. I know that. I don’t like that he died, but no, it’s not about him. We had something fun, she added, a glimmer in her eyes. But we were only friends in the end.

Friends with benefits? I murmured, and she chuckled.

Rik was a fantastic lover. She sighed, leaning against the shelves. I miss that fae.

So if it’s not about Rik, why are you all messed up?

Cyrene plucked a random book off the shelf, flipping through the yellowed pages. Doesn’t matter.

Her simple answer was filled with enough irritation it reached out and poked me in the temples. I winced, rubbed them, and gave her space. I think it does. Just tell me what’s making you all wonky. It’s been three months, and you’re getting worse.

It’s not over, she whispered so softly I almost missed it.

I stormed back around the shelf. Did you see something?

No, but until I know Carridan’s soul is no more, I can’t shake the notion that whatever planted this idea in his mind in the first place isn’t finished with us.

Over the last few months, those who’d been aiding Carridan had been captured and had slowly given up the rest of their plan. It wasn’t only Carridan’s idea to attempt the ritual in the first place. His captured allies had claimed to notice the same signs of magic failing and had the urge to open the doorway to the other world. Most of those involved were old enough to know better.

Magic rose and fell like a tide. Jasmine and the others were proof it was alive and well in this world. Even my power had steadily increased in potency over the last few years. Whatever fears Carridan and the others had, they hadn’t seemed to be their own. It was almost as if someone planted them in their minds. The news was disturbing and made me think there was something far fouler at play here than we’d realized.

Cyrene, several others, and I had performed various spells on the captives to glean any more information from them, but there was nothing to give us a new lead. The order had gone out to continue tracking and capturing the remainder of Carridan’s crazed cultists. I hadn’t agreed. Not trying to understand where this mad idea came from in the first place was setting us up to be taken advantage of at some point. That was what my gut said. But as I’d been told by numerous people, it’d been calm for months. No strange marks had shown up on people, and Eliza’s brands hadn’t reappeared. If Carridan’s soul was out there, it hadn’t been seen. With no magic to sustain him, he’d most likely faded from existence.

We should’ve been celebrating and moving on with our lives. I exchanged a brief glance with Cyrene and inwardly cursed. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one thinking bringing down Carridan’s cult wasn’t the end to this mess as we’d hoped.

What do you think we should do? I finally asked after Cyrene remained silent.

Keep your senses open. Not much else we can do.

I finished in the crescent moon room and headed down the long stretch of corridor, Cyrene following. The walls were lined with various tapestries of moonlit glades, dark foreboding forests, and several lonely cliffs jutting into the night sky. Each scene came to life at our passing. Grass waved in the night, and clouds darted across the face of the moons sewn into the fabric. The silver and black lanterns hanging from the ceiling burned brighter at our approach, then dimmed behind us.

We circled around to what was considered the central hub of the Archives. At the sight of the softly snoring, dark-haired woman with her head on the table, I nudged Cyrene.

I found Morgan. I’d wondered where she’d gotten off to.

She’s been studying almost nonstop, Cyrene commented quietly. She loves this place almost as much as you do. Not sure why.

How can you not love this place?

I spread my arms wide, indicating the shelves that formed a spiral in this room. The ceiling overhead had a floor-to-ceiling mural cascading down the walls, divided by night and day. Four stories of balconies overlooked the space. Somedays, there were more, depending on what mood the Archives was in. A few times, I’d even come across a spiral staircase that took me to a rare collection of ancient vases. I hadn’t seen that room in decades. The hardwood floor here gave way to a natural landscape of soft moss, wild creeping thyme, and grass.

At the center was a gnarled tree, its branches in various stages of the seasons depending on what side of the room you were in. Since the Archives was first formed, the tree had been here, a physical connection to the earth and the world outside these magical walls. Several orange leaves fluttered down and landed on the table beside Morgan’s sleeping form.

I went to her and gently kicked the foot of her chair. She bolted upright, eyes wide. Not sleeping, she muttered. Just uh, just resting my eyes.

If you don’t get your ass home, Dagon’s going to come looking for you, I told her.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Yeah, well, I don’t need an aggravated demon showing up in the Archives. The last time, I found three misplaced rooms, and it was right after his visit. I glanced over her shoulder to see what she was reading. That is not on the list we gave you.

Morgan closed the thick volume, a sheepish grin on her face. No, but I found it while I was getting all the other books, and I couldn’t help it. The amount of magical history in here is insane. You can’t expect me to keep my hands off it. There’s an entire floor dedicated to the Underworld and demons.

Three floors, I corrected, and her jaw dropped. Guess you haven’t found the other two yet.

No way I’m leaving now.

Morgan, you’ve been here for a day and a half, I pointed out. The Archives isn’t going anywhere. Go home to your demon.

She nibbled on her bottom lip, obviously trying to make up her mind. Finally, she threw her head back with an annoyed huff. Yeah, you’re right. Dagon’s probably driving Calrod crazy by wanting to come and get me. And I was going to check in with Jasmine. She said something about Zoe’s magic showing itself more.

I flinched at the sound of a crash behind me. Cyrene?

An entire shelf of books had come down at her feet. Her eyes glowed brightly, and her hand was encased in violet waves of magic. Hmm?

I pointed to the books, and she fumbled to fix the shelf and put the books back. Once the mess was cleaned up, she waved, said she’d see us in a few days, and set off into the Archives.

Okay, I might not have known her for very long, Morgan said, walking over to stand beside me, but she’s acting weird, right?

Are you picking up anything from her?

What do you think? She uses magic to shield herself from everyone, especially an empath, Morgan complained. I’ve been trying, trust me. I doubt I’ll ever be strong enough to break through her shields.

Give yourself time, oh young witch, I teased, trying to lighten the somber mood left in Cyrene’s wake. I wish I knew what was going through her head.

Are you sure it’s not about Rik?

She says it’s not. I’m tempted to believe her.

Cyrene had seemed to shift from grief over Rik’s death to anger the more she was around the demon princes. Eliza had mentioned things had been tense between Cyrene and Conan over the summer. That was months ago. As far as I knew, she hadn’t seen Conan since the night they stopped Carridan’s ritual. As far as I knew, they’d have no cause to see each other now. Not that I would know much about the happenings outside the Archives these past couple of months. I’d been spending my time here training Morgan, Cara, and Jasmine when she could pry herself away from Zoe.

It wasn’t like there was anywhere else for me to be, honestly. All the Keepers had living quarters here. It wasn’t just our duty to keep everything organized. The witches here protected the vast array of knowledge that filled these endless rooms. We also taught and provided aid to those who came to us.

My thoughts drifted from Cyrene and what might be going on with her and Conan to what was currently occurring in the Underworld. With the princes back in control, they’d been doing their best to set things right within their realm and help those affected by Carridan’s spell. One face in particular drifted to the forefront of my thoughts, and my cheeks burned.

Morgan gave me a curious glance. Alright, what are you thinking about now?

Me? Nothing. Why? I turned my back on her, sorting through the stacks of books she’d left on the table.

Your cheeks turned three shades of red, and your energy shifted.

Damned energy reading witches. It’s nothing. Aren’t you heading home?

Does it have anything to do with a certain demon prince with reddish horns and a sweet smile? she asked, chuckling. Not to mention that nice ass they all seem to have. How is that, by the way? How is that demons, of all beings, have the best-looking asses?

I laughed with her. No idea. Go home, Morgan. I’ll see you in a couple of days.

If you insist. I guess I won’t tell you what Dagon saw.

Wait, what? I asked, but she was already waving at me over her shoulder and walking away. Morgan!

It’s all good things, don’t worry. See you at the farmhouse for the Halloween party, she called back. Later, Olivia!

I glowered at her back, sighed, then organized the books to give my hands something to do, and eventually wandered to another part of the Archives.

Once I’d started thinking about Prince Aithen, I couldn’t stop. Though we hadn’t made it official yet, everyone pretty much knew we were together already. It was hard to keep a secret with mind-readers and empaths, and Dagon getting damn visions all the time. When we first met, Aithen was still reeling from being freed of Carridan’s hold. Once he’d had a chance to accept what he’d been through, he’d turned his focus to me. The connection between us had only grown since then.

My heart fluttered, and my lips tingled simply thinking about the last time I saw Aithen. That kiss was as intense as our first one had been, filled with heat and passion unlike anything I’d ever experienced. We knew what we were to each other, there was no denying that, but no matter how close we became, we were both holding back.

It’d been a week since I’d seen Aithen. He was as busy as the rest of the princes getting the Underworld back in working order. I, in turn, had buried myself in the Archives digging up whatever information I could on the Infernal Rift and how Carridan found the rituals in the first place. Neither of us said it aloud, but I sensed we were trying to keep ourselves busy to stop from focusing on us. It wasn’t Aithen’s fault. He had his own issues to overcome. He tried to hide the guilt that tortured him, but I saw through the mask most days. He carried the weight of every death caused by Carridan, no matter what I or anyone else told him.

And I, well, I had my own skeletons tucked away in a closet I never hoped to open. Some days, I still argued with myself over if what I felt was real or not.

I didn’t exactly have the best of luck when it came to relationships.

Eventually, Aithen and I would have to give in to our desires or call it quits altogether. This limbo wasn’t going to be good for us in the long run. Shaking out my wild tangles of blue hair in frustration and sending small drops of water into the air, I gathered up another stack of books that appeared to my right. I trudged deeper into the Archives, clutching those