Mercy by Rhiannon Paille Read Free Book Online

tapped his fingers on the edge of the steering wheel, drumming out the beat to a Billy Idol song. Everything about his Tempo was as flawless as it had been the day he bought it, the perks of being the former High King of the Lands of Peace. He sped down the winding highway, tall evergreens, elms, birch, and spruce on either side. Sunset fell over the horizon, casting trees in an orange glow. He couldn’t keep running from the Valtanyana in the hopes he’d stay a step ahead of them. He was screwed, and his only hope of getting out alive was her, The Amethyst Flame. His breath hitched as the song hit the bridge. Tor nodded in rhythm with the drums, singing along.
    There is nothin’ fair in this world,
    There is nothin’ safe in this world,
    And there’s nothin’ sure in this world,
    And there’s nothin’ pure in this world.
    It was probably a royally bad idea but he couldn’t leave, not since he released Kaliel from her golden prison. He tried not to think about the past, the war, being trapped in a human form. He pulled the car to a sharp right, taking a narrow gravel road through a bed of trees. He stopped at the end of the drive, parking in front of a beat up garage. The door was brown, big enough for a double, and slanted. The house looked abandoned, crumbling brick surrounding the porch, paint peeling in several places. He got out, slamming the door behind him. Eaves troughs were rusted and falling off, the pillars on either side of the steps were mossy. One of the porch steps was cracked in half. Considering the amount of work the porch alone was, he didn’t want to guess what the inside would be like. He sighed. It was big enough, a former mansion of sorts, probably a summer house. He opened the left of the thick oak doors, and stepped into the foyer. On his right was a rundown living room, light streaming through a bay window, casting shadows on the covered up furniture and wood flooring. On his left was the kitchen, looking severely bare, nothing but a fridge and microwave in sight. In front of him was a grand staircase leading to a small platform and two smaller staircases leading to two hallways on the second floor.
    He liked it.
    It reminded him of an eighteenth century manor house, but without all the Victorian architecture and class. He turned on his heel, finished with the tour and slid into the driver’s side of his Tempo. There was a hardware store in Sioux Narrows, and he’d have to go to the lumber yard in Kenora for the rest. He wouldn’t use the abilities they had left him with for the house, no those abilities were only for emergencies. He didn’t have any intention of letting them know he stopped running.
    O O O
    Her name.
    The witch knew her name.
    He wished he didn’t care.
    He didn’t want to care.
    Krishani careened through the air unaware of where the wind took him. He tumbled through clouds, their white wisps feigning white matter, mimicking it with unmistakable authenticity. He tried to force the hunger out of his form but it rippled across his tendrils, making him shudder.
    And then it was gone.
    The conversation with Shimma in the shack, the confrontation with Gemma in the hospital, the flash flood of memories crowding the human mind he held for mere hours, shattered into fractured shards and scattered across his form. He didn’t stay alive long enough. He couldn’t think of anything but the hunger and need. He swooped low, seeing triangular brown-topped houses. They crunched together leaving little room for roads. He fetched up beside a chimney, attempting to steady himself. In the distance he spotted a squat building, an H in neon plastered on a tower.
    He drifted to the ground, a sheen layer of frost covering the sweltering sidewalk as he hovered, trying to get the pleached feeling out of his form. A car passed, splashing water onto the sidewalk. He glanced at the townhouses and flats, all of them a carbon copy of the last. By the smell in the air, this was England—London