19. Chapter 19
Chapter 19
“ Y ou.”
Aurelia had been so solely focused on the scent of that stairway that she hadn’t heard the footsteps behind her.
A silver-haired male circled in front of her, wiping away an errant drop of blood from the corner of his mouth.
She recognized this one. He had silently stood at the edge of the chamber as his mother was labeled a traitor and murdered. He’d been the one to offer her up and bear witness against her.
Aurelia took a step back as the male towered over her, his silver hair cropped short above the sharp lines of his face. His pale red eyes were bright with what she suspected was bloodlust as he leered at her, nostrils flaring vulgarly. “I wonder what a half-breed tastes like.”
Her power simmered in answer, useless, confined as he forced her back against the stone wall, the damp cold biting through her dress. Fear seized her, and the male grinned, seeming to scent it.
Instinct took over.
She struck him, the punch landing solidly as his head twisted with a satisfying crunch. Ducking under the arm that caged her, she was nearly out of reach—
A hand wrenched her back.
He was faster, stronger. And despite the blood that poured down his face, the strike only seemed to sober him as he gripped her arm hard enough to bruise.
She clawed at his hold on her, but the damn slippers she wore removed any leverage she might have had. Terror forced another instinct to the surface as his narrowed gaze met hers. Hunger and cruelty in his stare.
"Let me go!" she raged.
The male’s pale red eyes widened, his grasp releasing ever so slightly, jaw going slack.
Her pulse hammered in her throat at the realization.
Gaze locking with his, she threw more weight into the words, “Go back and forget that you saw me here.”
The male's stare went blank for a moment, seeming to fight the hold of her command as he looked through her. She moved to slip out of his hand, and the daze shattered, clarity returning to his eyes.
His hand clamped around her again as he shook the order off, gaze narrowed.
“Vorare,” he uttered in disbelief, a grin spreading across his face that made bile rise in her throat.
She tried to meet his eyes again, another command on her lips as he snatched a fistful of hair, her head snapping back as he drug her through the tunnels.
She fought and raged, her dress tearing as he hauled her back into that room of monsters—throwing her before the king. Dread rose up in her chest, heart pounding in her throat at what he might tell him . . .
“Avaric,” the king called from the head table, white brows creasing at the interruption.
Ven's face paled, rage flaring in his eyes as they darted from the male’s bloodied nose to the ripped sleeve of her dress.
Panic clenched a cold fist around her. If the king realized that she possessed the same gift as Ven . . .
“Your Majesty,” the male gave a shallow bow, his alabaster skin flushed. “You said I was owed a favor for my loyalty—" he called out flatly, pointing to where she stood. "I would ask for her.”
Ringing droned between her ears. The feeling of plummeting off a cliff only to discover a far more gruesome fate awaited you.
The king tapped his fingers against the wide arm of his throne, considering. “You wish for the half-breed?”
The male gave a single nod.
No—
The king steepled long white fingers beneath his chin, eyes sliding to Ven.
No, no, no . . .
But before he could grant his permission, Ven stood, his face flooded in torchlight.
“I claim her.” His deep voice rumbled through the mountain, making the room fall silent.
Even the Nostari still feeding on their victims raised their bloody faces to watch as Ven cut through the crowd.
Whatever was happening seemed to change the very air around them.
Ven came to stand beside her, forcing the other male to take a step back.
The king looked at him with wry amusement. “I trust you remember the laws of our kind? We still hold to the old traditions here, and even a Blood Prince is not exempt from the outcome of a challenge.”
Ven never took his eyes from her as he answered, “I do.”
“Very well,” the king said, motioning with a hand. “Whoever else would lay claim to this female—step forward.”
A few whispers rang out from the nobility, quickly hushed as two males emerged from the crowd to join the one who had drug her into the room. A guard stepped beside Ven, removing the cuffs that circled his wrists. He offered her a final glance before turning to face the court.
It wasn’t until that moment that she understood what was happening . . .
Ven was going to fight them. Fight for her.
“Until yield or death,” the king smiled grimly.
Ven prowled like a shadecat toward the center of the cavern, rolling out the thick muscles in his neck, power rippling off him as if it couldn’t wait to be unleashed.
Another handful of males joined, smirks on their faces, all of them hungry for a chance at killing the legendary warrior—the king’s son—without retaliation. More enticed by the thought of Ven’s death than any real desire to claim her. Even the king looked gluttonous for bloodshed as the corner of his mouth lifted in amusement from where he lounged, not in the least concerned that his only rightful heir was up against six other males.
Alaric stepped forward, an arrogant grin on his sharply angled face.
She didn't want to consider what he had planned should he succeed . . . No— that was not an option. Even if Ven should fail, she wouldn't let that be her fate.
Alaric lashed out without preamble, bursts of flame twisting through the air toward Ven a dozen feet away. The brilliant reds and ambers twirled and churned in mid-air but never reached their target as Ven unleashed his own dark power.
Palms stretched out in front of him, the corded muscle of his forearms apparent even under the sleeves of his tunic, shadows burst from his fingertips. The golden column of his throat tensed as a wall of darkness swirled around the flames, snuffing them out.
The silver-haired male took a step forward, bracing his magick against Ven’s as he unleashed another torrent of fire, flames licking closer to where Ven stood. But Ven did not flinch, did not falter, as his shadows swallowed the bright burst of fire in a single gulp, extinguishing them with an audible gasp—or maybe it was just the ravenous spectators surrounding them.
The smirk on the male’s face fell as his throat bobbed and a wild panic replaced the arrogance that had been in his pale red eyes just moments before.
Ven raised his hand, shadows coiling around Alaric, pinning his arms to his sides. His face was a mask of terror as Ven’s open palm closed into a fist.
The ropes of shadow tightened as Ven took a step closer, his expression cold, impassive. His voice lethally quiet.
“Do you yield?”
The male struggled, grasping at wisps of air and smoke. Rage narrowed his eyes, too proud to accept the mercy Ven offered him as he choked out, “Never.”
Ven clenched his fist, a snap echoing throughout the cavern.
The male’s broken body fell limply to the floor, and only silence followed as three of the others melted back into the crowd—thinking better of it.
Two remained, wrath written on their cold faces as they bombarded Ven with fire, red and orange flames singeing the air with their heat.
Fear constricted Aurelia’s throat as the relentless onslaught continued. A ribbon of flame passed closely enough to him that lightning crackled between her knuckles in response.
They were out for blood. There would be no mercy offered to Ven if they managed to defeat him.
Fatigue began to seep into the males’ features, a sheen of sweat collected at their pale temples as they continued to envelope Ven in flames—one shot bursting through the air just as another landed.
Ven’s dark hair clung to the nape of his neck in waves, falling over his eyes as he manipulated and twisted the darkness in response. Each attack was snuffed out by his power, his shadows swallowing up the fire like a dark, prowling beast.
They pressed in, pummeling him with flames. Aurelia’s heartbeat thundered in her chest as the amber and scarlet overtook him, the heat in the cavern scorching now as beads of sweat trailed down her temples and she lost sight of him completely as he was enveloped in fire.
A rumble shook the cavern.
Darkness gathered from every direction. And in the midst of it all—Ven emerged. His face, that of an avenging god. Maybe Fate herself. He lifted his palms, fingers clawed as satin night eddied, surging through the crowd at his call.
The cavern darkened, saturated with his power as he splayed his fingers wide.
Shadows thin as blades whipped out toward the males closing in on him.
Red mist blanketed the cavern.
Silence. There was only silence as the haze of smoke and blood cleared, revealing Ven—tall and proud amidst the broken bodies of his challengers.
And while every pair of eyes watched him, he lifted his head, crimson eyes focused on her.
Lethal intent sharpened his gaze as more shadows spilled from his fingertips—toward her.
Guards rushed forward, chaos erupting as Ven cut down four of them with a single thought, his magick reaching, grasping for her. A dozen more descended on him.
The shadows that swirled around him like a violent storm banked to watery tendrils, evaporating as silver cuffs were clamped onto his wrists once more.
The guards held him down, knowing the threat he posed even without his magick as they looked to their king for an order.
A smirk tugged at the corner of the king's mouth. "I could have you sentenced to death for killing my men," he finally said. The note of pride beneath the rebuke unmistakable.
"But you won't," Ven uttered, contempt lacing his words.
The king chuckled as the guards began to haul Ven from the room.
"I am entitled to a moment alone with my claimed." Ven shoved out of their grasp. "As the old traditions dictate," he bit out.
His father gave a nod, a glimmer of indulgence in his flat, red eyes.
The crowd parted for him like flesh under a blade as Ven stalked toward her, primal and dominating. Something about this tradition, this ancient ritual, speaking to the beasts their kind had once been. The cold glint in his eye making her wonder what he would have done to them all had his father refused . . .
He stood before her, stretching out a blood-soaked hand.
And she took it.