Chapter 23
Sirus stood deep within the forest of Volkov, just at the edge of the new warding spells Levian had cast. With her knowledge and Rath’s guidance, the mage had crafted them even stronger than before.
The mist was thick, but he sensed the creature moving toward him. “So, you’re alive,” Sirus observed with his usual chill.
Marcus stopped, a tinge of frustration spreading over his face. Sirus would never grow tired of sneaking up on his old foe.
“I’m not sorry to disappoint you,” Marcus replied. He looked weary, his eyes more sunken and dark. The glow of his skin dimmer than before.
Sirus stepped beyond the shadow and into the pale light of dusk that seeped in through the haze. “We seem equally skilled at avoiding death.”
Marcus nodded. “Blessed, I like to think.”
Sirus was far from blessed but didn’t bother to say it. “You should have asked me to kill her from the start.”
Marcus looked out into the mist. “I will not argue that. Though I’m not sure you would have succeeded.”
“She’s dead,” Sirus told him. It’s why Marcus had come, to confirm Nestra’s destruction.
His old foe turned his narrow, jaded gaze on him. “You’re sure?”
Sirus reached into his coat, pulled out the fae-silver diadem encrusted with blue gems, and tossed it to Marcus. “Yes. I saw it myself.”
The zephyr turned the diadem over in his hands with a look of faint disbelief. It was done. Marcus let out a long breath, and with it a heavy weight seemed to lift from his shoulders.
“If you should ever need anything, Sirus…” Marcus offered.
“Our debt is satisfied.”
Marcus eyed him. “We’re far from even,” he declared. “We may have much to fix in our Court, but I hope we can at least begin here. We owe you and yours a great deal. The king himself wished me to express his gratitude and respect.”
They’d not defeated Nestra for Strye or Thurin or any zephyr.
“Did he express such thanks to you?” Sirus asked.
Marcus shifted to lean back on his heel. “He made me High General and Chief Regent of the Court.”
“Then Thurin is not a total fool,” Sirus observed.
The zephyr grimaced at the slight against his king, but he didn’t bite back as he might have before. Instead, Marcus smirked. “The recent threat to his life and crown has brought about much change in my King.” A deadly coup could have that effect. “He imagines a stronger Court of Strye now that Nestra is gone. One more open to the world. One with allies instead of enemies.”
Sirus would believe it when he saw it. He could tell Marcus was skeptical but had hope.
“I hope, for your people’s sake, he doesn’t squander this moment of clarity.”
Marcus nodded softly. “How many of her paladins escaped?”
“Few. No more than five.”
After Nestra’s destruction, Levian had bound the surviving and the dead paladins with magick and dumped them on the Council of Mages’s doorstep to deal with. It’d caused quite a stir.
“We’ll continue to hunt them,” Marcus assured him. “A few escaped the island after we reclaimed power. The king is impatient to have the traitors collected.”
“There’s one. A soulless creature with eyes of mirror.”
Marcus scowled with recognition. “Yes. I know him. He’s one of those who fled?”
“Yes.” Sirus had thought Aldor dead. Had seen Nestra plunge the dark dagger into his chest. How he’d survived, Sirus didn’t know. Niah and the others had scoured the forest, but they found only a smear of blood along the door of the old dovecote near where they’d fought. He’d simply vanished. The D?kk blade as well.
The zephyr nodded his understanding. “My king and the Court are also eager to see him captured. We’ll find him.”
Sirus wasn’t so sure he would, but he would leave it in their hands for now.
For a moment, silence lingered between them. “The power Nestra hunted. It remains hidden?” Marcus asked finally.
A rush of cold spread through Sirus’s blood. The same rush he felt anytime he thought of Gwendolyn, which was constantly.
“Yes.” Gwendolyn remained hidden, but she hadn’t awoken. He’d barely left her bedside in the last three days since the attack.
“I feared I was making a mistake when I left this forest last,” Marcus admitted. “To put my faith in a vampire.”
Sirus tensed at his words. They both knew the truth. Sirus had not been bound by magick to honor the blood debt between them. He’d agreed because he’d felt the weight of the debt. Had felt honor bound to repay it.
Marcus turned to look over the mist of the forest, leaving his side vulnerable to Sirus. It was the most exposed the zephyr had ever been in his presence. “I’d fought countless battles,” Marcus told him. “Cut down more than I could count. But I was jealous of your fearlessness all those years ago. The way you looked into my eyes, as if I were death and you’d known me all your life. I didn’t kill you because I’d felt unequal to the privilege.”
A time not long ago, Sirus might have found Marcus’s confession a display of weakness. But things had changed. He’d changed.
“Your Goddess was testing you?” he posed to the zephyr.
“Perhaps,” Marcus replied, turning to face him again. “Perhaps the gods have been testing us all.”
Perhaps, but Sirus doubted it. The same had been spoken after Merlin was imprisoned. He’d doubted it then too.
Sirus had been ready to die that day, under Marcus’s blade. Had thought his salvation would only come with an honorable death. It was Marcus’s choice to spare him that had ultimately led Sirus to taste what it was to truly live.
Soft snow began to fall as night descended. Sirus was anxious to return to Gwendolyn. He’d been away too long.
Marcus approached him and held out his hand. Sirus hesitated. So much had changed. Only time would tell if it would hold true. For now, he would have to have faith.
“Thank you,” Marcus said as they gripped each other’s hands.
Sirus gave only a small nod. He wasn’t the one who deserved thanks.
Sirus took his usual seat near the fire in his study as the witching hour approached. Levian plopped down onto the couch across from him and threw her head back to stare at the ceiling.
“You should’ve ignored them,” Barith grumbled from the edge of the room as he fiddled with the fresh scar over his right eye. A remnant left by one of Nestra’s paladins.
Levian lifted her head, a scowl already settled over her face. “Ignoring them would only leave room for more wild speculation.”
After Levian had unceremoniously dumped the dead and living zephyr paladins on the doorstep of the Council of Mages, they’d naturally had some questions. She’d been summoned to give a statement a mere hour after the incident.
Levian ignored their requests for a week but felt compelled to deal with it before too much time passed.
“So, it was all peaches, then?” Barith asked with a sarcastic snort.
Levian narrowed her eyes. Of course it wasn’t. She took in a breath to throw out a barb but let the air fall from her lungs instead. The mage rubbed her temple. “Better than I expected,” she admitted. “Niah’s presence helped to add some validity to my version of events.”
“What do they know?” Sirus asked.
“Little, thankfully,” Levian answered. “The zephyrs have been rather tight-lipped about the whole affair, which works in our favor. They only knew what they were able to cobble together from the few spies they had in Strye. As far as they’re aware, Nestra finally attempted to overthrow Thurin, failed, and was killed as a result.”
Barith laughed bitterly. “And they believed that horse shite?”
“It’s better that they do,” Levian pointed out sharply. “The truth would only bring questions. Questions we don’t need.”
“So they think we just went around rounding up paladins for the fun of it?” the dragon huffed.
Levian rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have a drink to fill your trap with?” she snapped.
Barith scowled at her dismissal but stalked over to pour himself a drink, cursing her under his breath.
“I confessed that the reason for my last audience was to warn them about my suspicions that Nestra was hunting ancient D?kk artifacts to add to her collection,” the mage went on. “Council already knew about her interests, of course, but they seemed to buy my explanation. They were also quite quick to believe that the zephyr High Priestess sent paladins here in a misguided attempt to steal some of those rare D?kk items she believed the Clan of Wolves possessed.
“I told them it just so happened that when Nestra’s paladins arrived, they found Volkov wasn’t the desolate wasteland they’d expected. Barith and I happened to be visiting at the time of the attack. I merely dropped the paladins on their doorstep to make a point that they needed to deal with the problem firsthand.”
Barith snorted. “Feckin’ eejits.”
Levian snapped her head around to glare at him. “Yes,” she clipped. “They are.”
“Mostly,” Niah added.
The dragon cocked a brow at Levian, who grimaced and turned back to face Sirus, throwing her braids over her shoulder as she did. “Some of the mages are obviously suspicious about how everything unfolded. Particularly how a bunch of paladins were able to breach the infamous protection spells around the ancient Castle of Wolves. But the Zephyr High Court are the only others who know the truth, and they’re never going to tell the Council or anyone else any different,” she elaborated.
“King Thurin wants everyone to think that he defeated Nestra himself. So how are they ever to learn any different? I made sure all the paladins who lived were too scrambled to remember their names, let alone what happened or why. Besides, even if they do find out eventually, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that they don’t until?—”
Until Gwendolyn woke.
No one except Sirus knew what had unfolded on that field between Nestra and Gwendolyn and himself. Not even Niah had witnessed it all. Sirus had been the only one to see Gwendolyn’s raw power.
“They don’t know of her,” Niah told him.
“No,” Levian confirmed. “They don’t. They believe Nestra never found what it was she hunted, which is why she was so easily defeated.” A touch of worry fell over her face. “Though I do think some of the elder mages suspect that whatever object of power Nestra was after might be here.”
Sirus peered out the window to the gray sky beyond. Rath sat with her now, but he could still feel the dull pulse of her presence. If the mages came for Gwendolyn, he would be ready.
Levian let out another deep sigh and looked pensively into the fire. “I received word from Iathana,” she told him.
Sirus bristled, anger bubbling within. How Gwendolyn had managed to return to Volkov, he still didn’t know, but Iathana had surely been involved.
“She told me Gwen chose her path and she respected her choice.”
He contained the growl of rage that threatened to slip out of him. Sirus had known Iathana would be able to sense Gwendolyn’s hesitation in going to the Veil, but not that she would deny her entry for it. That she’d banished Gwendolyn back to Volkov knowing what was happening made his skin hot with fury.
Levian looked at him with weary determination. “I know what you think,” the mage said. “But Iathana is not cruel. There must have been a reason she returned.”
Sirus did not care what the reason was. The mage knew the dryad well, but he held no such loyalty. If he ever saw Iathana again, it would not end pleasantly.
“How are the zephyrs managing to keep the island hidden now that their High Priestess is dead?” Barith asked, clearly trying to move away from the topic of Iathana.
Levian relaxed a little, sensing the dragon’s efforts. “Even without Nestra, the Temple of Light is a formidable source of magick,” she replied, following Barith’s lead. “It seems that the priestesses who remained loyal to Thurin are managing to keep it hidden for now. A new High Priestess will be declared before long, I imagine. One King Thurin can keep well under his thumb.”
“Thurin should send us all a king’s treasure,” Barith grumbled as he poured himself another drink and poked at the wound over his eye.
Levian began to anxiously fiddle with one of her necklaces. “I’ll tell the king you said so.”
Barith lifted his drink to his lips but stilled when her words registered. “What do you mean you’ll tell the king?”
The mage’s cheeks turned a touch pink.
“Thurin has asked Levian to be the zephyrs’ ambassador to the Council of Mages,” Niah told them.
The dragon’s eyes flared with fire.
“Calm down,” Levian declared, anticipating his reaction. “I haven’t accepted.”
“But you will,” Barith growled, slamming his glass down.
Levian didn’t immediately jump at the chance to argue with him, which meant she was considering it. She would be the first ambassador to the zephyrs to ever exist, as far as Sirus knew. Council had to be displeased with the direct request, but they weren’t fools. An ambassador, even if it were Levian, would be a great asset. Or so they would have to hope.
Sirus left the dragon and mage to their bickering to return to Gwendolyn. They didn’t know what it would mean for vampires when she woke. Technically, Gwendolyn would be the first rebirth in nearly two centuries. Except they couldn’t be sure she was a vampire. Not entirely. Not yet.
After Rath had gone, Sirus sat by Gwendolyn’s bedside and lifted her delicate hand in his. He turned it over and kissed the inside of her palm above the thin scar that remained.
Death was something Sirus knew intimately, but as he’d held Gwendolyn’s frail, broken body to him in the field, he’d felt a fear of it he’d never known before. Her confession had broken all reason within him. The moment he’d felt her slipping away, he’d been desperate to save her. Unwilling to let her rest and be at peace. He’d not been ready to let her go.
Sirus let out a deep breath as he stroked her small hand with his thumb. He spoke to her in Persian. “I am sorry, Gwendolyn,” he told her for the thousandth time. She didn’t stir.
He watched her slumber. He craved to see her green eyes again, to see her smile, to hear her voice. Sirus pressed her hand against his chest and held it there. “I should have told you,” he admitted to her. He brushed his hand down the soft skin of her arm. Light scars remained where Nestra had carved the D?kk symbols into her flesh.
Sirus’s chest tightened. He kissed those scars as she’d kissed his. “I miss you,” he whispered against her skin. “Please, forgive me.”
Sirus wanted Gwendolyn to awaken more than anything, but he feared it just as much. He feared what it would mean.
What she’d remember.
What she wouldn’t.
It was quiet. Dark. Peaceful. Then there was a spark.
Gwen shot out of bed like she’d been shocked by lightning, jumping clear off the edge to fall into a crumpled heap on the floor.
She gasped in harsh gulps of cold air as her body vibrated and sizzled. No amount of blinking seemed to remove the blur from her eyes. Her ears pulsed and hummed. Everything felt—strange.
Things began to come into focus as she propped herself up on her hands.
Why was she on the floor? Had she had a nightmare?
It was the smell of tree and spice that grounded her. She looked up, blinking in the dim light, looking for the source. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
Sirus stood at the edge of the room. The moment she saw him, her heart leapt, then fell.
She’d fallen out of bed right in front of him. Embarrassment blended with confusion. Why was he even here? And why was he looking at her like that?
Sirus started to approach her, his hands held out as if she were some feral animal. A flutter of anxiety rippled through her. She was still panting as she looked over herself. Had she grown a tail or claws or something? Gwen looked at her hands. Normal. There wasn’t a tail—thank heavens.
“Gwendolyn,” he said with caution. Actual caution.
“I just fell out of bed,” she grumbled, a little annoyed. He could have at least helped her up. “I’m not having a fit.” She dragged herself up off the floor and back to the edge of the bed. “You’re looking at me like I’ve sprouted horns.”
Wait. She touched the top of her head, trying to play it off like she was just running her fingers through her hair. Nope. No horns.
“What do you remember?” he asked, still keeping his distance.
Gwen blinked. Why was he being so weird? It wasn’t like anything had…happened.
Bits of memories flashed in erratic pieces. Gwen squinted under the strain and the dull ache that came with them.
Iathana and a field of purple flowers.
The snow falling in the forest.
Being mad at Sirus.
Seeing him—naked. Her cheeks flushed pink.
The memories started to take shape, but it was like they were just shards mashed together. She remembered pain and blue light. Blood and ash. A cold sweat spread over her, and Gwen’s chest grew heavy. She attempted to swallow the lump of air in her throat.
“What happened?” she asked breathlessly.
She wasn’t wholly sure what’d been real and what hadn’t. If any of it was real.
Sirus came closer and, to Gwen’s utter shock, fell on his knees. “I’m sorry,” he told her, keeping his head down.
Gwen was shaken and confused by the raw display. “Why?” she asked in disbelief.
He took a moment but soon looked up into her eyes, his face stoic. “You were dying. I fed you my blood.”
Gwen’s heart was racing as she tried to remember. It was all still so fuzzy in her head. The moment the pieces began to take shape, her eyes went wide. Her heart slammed so hard she could feel it in her throat.
“Does that mean—” She couldn’t quite finish the question.
“We don’t know,” he replied. “You are not wholly vampire.”
Gwen looked down at her hands in shock. She looked the same. But she did feel different. Stronger. Sharper. Albeit a little dreary at the moment.
She didn’t thirst for blood—she didn’t think she did, anyway. And her teeth seemed the same. She could kill for a glass of water, but not literally. Sirus watched her so closely, she could feel his eyes lingering on her face. When she looked up, she was surprised that he lowered them to the ground.
Shit. This was all so weird and beyond comprehension, but Sirus’s reaction made her stomach drop.
“I-is everyone else—okay?” she stammered, afraid of the answer.
“They’re all recovered.”
Gwen took in a deep, stuttered breath of relief. Her heart ached as she looked at Sirus, who was still on his knees, his eyes low. Everyone was alive. She was alive—only because of him. She didn’t understand how it’d worked, only that it had, and Sirus was torturing himself over what he’d done. It tore at her to know how desperate he must have been to even try it. Her chest tightened.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she told him, her emotions brimming to their edge.
“Why?” he asked her, his icy voice shaking. “Why did you come back?”
Gwen slid down to the floor in front of him. He finally looked up into her eyes as she did. “You know why,” she replied, holding back tears. “I didn’t want to go to the Veil, and when I realized you were in trouble I—I couldn’t just leave you.”
He was quiet for a while. So long Gwen began to tremble with nerves and emotions. Without saying a word, he came to her. She watched him with bated breath and watery eyes as he filled the space between them. Sirus took her hands in his, and Gwen inhaled sharply.
He kissed her palm. Then the other. “I didn’t want you to go,” he confessed.
Gwen tore her hands from his and threw her arms around him. For a second, Sirus was limp beneath her, but he soon wrapped his arms tightly around her middle. She closed her eyes and savored his embrace.
They were alive. Both of them. “Sirus, I—” she started.
He kissed her then, stealing her words. That kiss shook her to her very core. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against hers and looked into her eyes.
Where there’d once been ice, Gwendolyn saw warmth. Tenderness. She shuddered, melting into him. Sirus pulled her in closer. With her in his arms, he pulled the darkness around them, and a shiver rippled up her spine. Her skin sizzled as her magick blended with his shadows.
“I love you, Gwendolyn,” he told her.
Her heart leapt, and she flashed a watery smile. Then she kissed him, peeling away only to whisper, “I love you too.”
Gwen didn’t know what was going to happen next, but she knew it didn’t matter as long as she had him. Her shadow man. Her vampire. Her heart.