50. Pricked by Poison

50

PRICKED BY POISON

T he smallest of Tharen’s wolves let out a low growl, joined in time by the other two, their hackles raised as they readied themselves to pounce. Gleaming eyes trained right over Luella’s shoulder.

Luella turned, the action was slow from her exhaustion.

And five sets of possessive eyes fell on her.

Shock marred Tharen’s usually stoic features. A braid hit the side of his cheek as he whipped his head, a hand searching behind him for one of the swords strapped to his back.

It happened quickly.

From the shadows of the fallen buildings, a fae leaped out.

A female.

Her hair was matted with grease, and she barely had any fat on her bones. But that wasn’t what made fear grip Luella’s throat and constrict her lungs.

It was the briefest flash of shadowed eyes that caused Luella to scramble back, foot twisting anew.

" Luella !" Graves shouted, his gruff voice was a loud boom that resonated within the quiet destruction of the village center.

But it was too late.

Green, twining vines shot out from the fae female’s hands as she let out a snarling scream. The vines curled around Luella’s ankle and tugged her back. Luella fell to the ground, elbows thudding as she tried to catch herself. Her stomach dagged over rubble, and she yelped from the pain. The female behind her did not relent.

In a whirlwind, the Umbra struck. A small, bloodied dagger was clutched in between thin fingers, and quick as a coiled snake, the Umbra struck the point of the blade right down onto Luella’s heart.

Luella gasped, rolling to the side. Her eyes squeezed shut.

No .

The blade struck Luella’s upper arm before it glanced off the rocks near her side, falling from the Umbra’s hands.

Sharp, white-hot pain lanced from the cut, and Luella gasped.

The female jerked back, a shake to her limbs. Exhausted and hungry. Luella could see it in her eyes. She was nearly dead anyway. And that meant she was desperate, controlled by the disease gripping her, willing to do anything…

Tendrils of pain continued to lick up Luella’s arm, and she clutched a palm over the wound. Blood seeped between her fingers, a slow trickle. It was neither deep nor deadly. But then, why did it feel so agonizing?

Her breathing was heavy in her ears.

Everything had been so slow but suddenly roared to life.

Curses rang behind her.

The Umbra pressed her back to the side of the building, eyes downturned. She was waiting for her death. For punishment.

Luella stared up at the dimming sky, still clouded with smoke.

Warm palms snapped her out of her haze as Az rested his hands on her shoulders and helped her rise.

"…okay?" She barely noticed Az speak, too stunned to do anything but lean against him.

Luella may have nodded, but she was not sure. It was all surreal. She felt too small to be contained by her skin. Everything narrowed down to that lancing pain in her arm.

The demon’s hands notched against her waist, and she forced her body to cooperate. Luella leaned into the demon heavily, a sudden shiver making her curl into him for warmth. Bastian and Az crowded around her, and between the spaces of their bodies, she watched the Umbra’s demise.

The King had come to avenge Luella’s near death.

Tharen threw one of his long, curved swords through the air, King Vale grabbing it by the hilt with expert precision.

With a vengeance, the King struck.

A sharp gust of air from the mage’s outstretched palms forced the Umbra back against the wall, held in an invisible cage made from his Aer magic. Graves was a shadow, every bit of skin concealed as he charged toward the female, gloved fingers wrapping around her throat.

Her hair was the shade of a typical Terra fae—golden red—and the strands were sticky with blood, falling against her dirt-streaked skin. She could not have been much older than Luella, a mere heirus.

Luella’s heart seized, chills seeping throughout her as Az removed the hand that was still pressed against her arm to look at her wound. But Luella couldn’t look away from the Umbra, not even as Az murmured a curse.

Something clinked, and her eyes drifted to watch as Bastian weighed the blade the fae had used in his hands, sorrow weighing down his brow as red-tinged eyes shifted to the bloodied dagger in his grip, to where Luella was caught in the demon’s arms. Az almost held her up completely as she listed to the side, unable to keep herself steady.

Old blood stained the blade in Bastian’s grip, congealed and crusty, while shining, red liquid dripped from the tip, mingling with the ichor. Her blood mixed with whatever ungodsly type that coated the blade.

King Vale wielded his sword with a snarl.

And then…

Plunged.

The tip of the blade pierced the female’s chest, and she let out a cry, somewhere between relieved and pained. Her suffering was almost over.

Luella’s fingers dug into Az’s arm.

She shifted, her cheek brushing over his warm chest. Her ankle didn’t hurt so much anymore.

King Vale jerked the blade by the hilt, cutting the female’s stomach right down the middle. Graves’s firm grip around the Umbra’s shoulders was the only thing keeping her upright. Even as blood and guts pooled from the hole in her stomach, he did not falter nor abate in his quest for vengeance.

The raven shifter looked to be an angel of death. But wrapped up in the darkness of his cloak, helping to avenge her, maybe he was more akin to one of the fallen.

Luella never saw the Umbra’s last breath.

Her bleary eyes shifted from the scene at the sound of wheezing breaths.

The labored breathing was too close to be from the dying female.

Far, far too close.

Luella stumbled, her head was fuzzy.

She didn’t feel?—

Woah .

Her boot slipped against a crumbled stone, and Luella blinked furiously to clear the fog that threatened to overtake her vision.

She tilted to the side, and this time, Az did not catch her; cold hands helped to ease her as she was lowered the rest of the way to the ground. Bastian and Az crouched over her, the demon’s hands shook as he smoothed her hair back from her brow.

She barely felt his touch.

Everything was spinning. And her limbs felt awkward, too heavy for her body. None of this was right.

"Az," Luella breathed. But her voice sounded strange. Shaky and thin.

Through muted hearing, the faint sound of crunching alerted her to a new presence.

The others stood above her, all wearing similar expressions of fear and…

Grief.

That was grief lining the wild regalness of King Vale’s face; grief softening the hard edges of Tharen’s jaw and the hollows of his cheeks; grief that made Graves’s gloved hands shake as he roughly shoved his hood back, only to reveal eyes of the deepest blue, swirling with an ocean of feeling.

The corners of Graves’s dark lashes were wet with tears as the raven shifter took a knee.

Darkness crowded her vision, and when she opened her eyes again—a soft, weary flutter that felt too difficult to manage—she saw a face swimming before her, the features murky.

His mouth moved, but Luella could not make out the words.

"Tharen," Luella forced out between clumsy, numb lips.

Tharen pressed a hand against her brow, and her eyes closed again.

Something sharp stung against her cheek, and she felt nearly cross-eyed as she opened her lids and looked up at him. Through a cloud of sudden and bitter cold, she realized the mage had slapped her.

Soft, murmured voices soothed Luella, in memory of lullabies whispered between iron bars.

She blinked. King Vale was above her.

Luella lifted a weak hand and touched his face gently. She smoothed a finger clumsily over the line of his jaw, up to his cheek. It was a constant push and pull between them—the captive Princess and her captor, the King. Just this once, Luella wanted to give in to the pull and refuse the urge to push him away.

"I don’t… want to die." Her chin trembled. "Please don’t let me die."

She wanted to live, to unearth all the secrets that were just out of reach.

To adventure, to learn, to love… And be loved.

She had thought she was ready. Thought she didn’t care. But now that death was standing before her, Luella wanted to run far away.

Icy tendrils licked through her fingertips and curled up her veins, freezing every piece of her.

"You’re not going to die," King Vale hissed. "I won’t allow it."

He said something then, mouth quickly moving as he turned his head to speak to Tharen, but she didn’t quite catch it.

Everything was going in and out of focus.

And thick ice was sweeping through her, radiating like a snowstorm from the cut on her arm.

Luella did not know anything else but the pain.

Ice and pain. Pain and ice.

It was cold. And dark.

And she felt alone. Even surrounded by the very males who took everything from her.

Warmth broke through the chill as hands cupped her cheeks, forcing her eyes to open. Luella didn’t realize she had closed them.

King Vale’s head of golden hair was ruffled in the wind. Without his crown, he was more like her.

At that, Luella’s lips gave a small twitch. At least before she died, she would be able to see him like this—disheveled and almost normal. As normal as someone like him could be.

Her golden eyes shifted to the sky behind him, looking up at the glorious expanse above, still tinged with smoke.

The purple of twilight mingled with the haze, and countless stars dotted the sky. It was beautiful. She was glad to see something so precious, to hold it in her memory.

She drew in a small breath, her exhale even more faint.

A cacophony of voices, drowned out by the roaring in her ears and the rushing of ice in her veins.

Her body was moved, but Luella did not feel it.

Even as a tiny echo of something great welled deep within her stomach.

And Luella…

Blinked.

A hand patted against her cheek, a face in front of her. This time, she couldn’t make out who it was as her head lolled to the side like a mere doll. More voices. Fingertips pressed against her arm, lifting her cold hand from where it rested limply on her stomach.

She barely felt anything save the vivid tug of tiny threads that pulled her in every direction. A groan escaped her, barely a sound, fallen from pale lips.

"Open your eyes," whispered over her face, little breaths fluttering her eyelashes and ruffling the tendrils of curls that fell against her temples.

She couldn’t. No matter how hard she tried.

As the ice cascaded through Luella, her soul warred against it, refusing to relent, even though she was so tired—desired nothing more than to give up, give in, and find relief.

The threads yanked and tugged. Her back nearly bowed off the ground from the forceful pulls.

She felt like she was being torn into a thousand different pieces, pulled in different directions, her soul fighting against an unnamed enemy.

A ghostly life, not even a full memory, but jagged fragments scattered all around. In the wind, within a canopy of trees, a body of water, embers of a fire, under the night sky, and the morning sun.

Within this final, soft memory of a half-life, Luella knew no more.

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