My Blood Is Yours (The Summoning #1)

22. Elowen

ELOWEN

S ariel takes care to wash most of his seed from my skin before he finally allows me to bathe him. As I lift the clothes Evandriel left for us on the cart, my eyes catch sight of a skeleton key hiding beneath them. My mind stutters at the sight. Disbelief pounds through me as the clothing now makes sense, and the key is entirely too deliberately placed for it to have been by accident.

Urgency burns through me too fiercely to take time to decipher Evandriel’s motives. I turn to face Sariel, whose eyes are already locked on me—as if he can detect the shift in my energy. Wordlessly, I hold the key in front of me. His eyes widen in shock and it’s then that I leap into action.

My heart slams against my chest so violently it’s a wonder it doesn’t rattle my entire body, yet my hands are surprisingly steady as I grip the manacles at Sariel’s ankles. The teeth of the skeleton key slide in perfectly. Time and space seem to narrow down to the singular moment. I’m met with no resistance as I twist the bow of the key, and a soft click echoes. The manacle pops open, hitting the stone floor with a clank.

Hope explodes inside of me like a fucking pyrotechnic fireworks display. Adrenaline takes over as I swiftly unlock each of Sariel’s shackles—including the magic-suppressing collar on his throat. My breath is held as we both turn towards the cell door.

The memory of Evandriel shutting the door flashes in my mind. Of him sliding the keys back into his pocket—without locking us in.

Oh, my fuck.

He planned this.

Sariel and I exchange a glance, both of us coming to the same realization. My voice drops to a whisper. “Do you think it’s a trap?”

Sariel’s brows drop into a V as his face contorts in a vicious scowl before he moves for the door. “He’s welcome to fucking try.”

“Wait!”

The word is a whispered shout. Sariel halts, twisting towards me.

“You’re naked!”

I snatch up the clothing from the bottom shelf of the cart, which we discover is a set of what Sariel identifies as fighting leathers, two cloaks and even two pairs of boots—each in large and small sizes. Inside one of the boots is a bit of rolled parchment. With held breath, I pass the mound of clothing and boots to Sariel, and he efficiently begins to shove them on as I hurriedly open the letter.

“Exit left, third door on the left, take the stairwell all the way down. There lies your exit. It will take you into the underground railway system. When you enter the first tunnel, take a right and follow it 8 km (east). You will see a sign for Whitechapel Rd. Take the nearest set of stairs to exit to street level. I’ll meet you there.”

By the time I finish reading, Sariel’s already finished dressing. And if terror and hope weren’t currently paralyzing my thoughts and emotions, the sight of him in that black cloak and fighting leathers certainly would. Fuck me, he’s beautiful.

My body seems to be incapable of deciding what to make of this new revelation. My hands finally begin to tremble with both hope, anticipation, dread, and fear as I quickly change into the boots and pull the cloak over my shoulders.

Snatching my hand in his, Sariel wrenches the cell door open, and I lead us down the hallway following Evandriel’s instructions. With each descending level of the stairwell, the air grows colder, mustier, and wetter. The metal stairs become rusted. The walls shift from stone to dirt. Claustrophobia begins to settle on top of us, threatening to crush us—or at least me—with the panic that follows.

It isn’t until we reach the bottom level of the stairwell, now little more than a hole in the earth with a metal door, that he finally speaks.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this, Elowen.”

“Nor do I.”

Sariel has to use his strength to pull the heavy black iron door open. The stench of sewers, rat shit, mould, dirt, and gods-know-what-else nearly slaughters us where we stand. The both of us draw the cloth of our cloaks over our noses.

I pull Evandriel’s directions from my dress pocket. “He instructs us to go right, but… perhaps we could find our own way. I don’t have much to support us, but?—”

Wearing a grim expression, Sariel cuts me off with a shake of his head. “We have no other choice but to go to him. He has the mundrapedra … It’s how I got here. I would give you everything I have and more to bring you back to Bellorum with me.”

I don’t know what the hell a mundrapedra is, but tears burn my eyes nonetheless—and it’s now no longer merely from the stench of rodent fecal matter. My heart swells with affection for this male who travelled from another world and risked his life to find me.

The apples of my cheeks rise from behind the curtain of my cloak. My answer requires no deliberation. The only person who existed in this world that truly mattered to me died a decade ago.

“I would love nothing more.”