Chapter 41
BLOOD TRAILS
AZ
Az’s feet thundered on the wet forest floor. The air held a dampness, but no rain—it held off, yet the sky was thick with the promise of it, the air charged and tingling. And something about that worried the demon.
Tharen’s wolves prowled through the forest, their paw pads soft on the wet clumps of leaves. Their eyes gleamed in the dark.
Ahead, Tharen whistled sharply and called, "Dyara.
" The largest of his wolves stilled, front leg raised, poised over the ground. The wolf’s eyes cut back to her master.
Tharen waved his hand, and Dyara cut to the right, allowing the smaller of the trio to burrow under a fallen tree trunk and search beneath for any clues.
Lya shimmied out from beneath the trunk, trotting back to her master with lips curling back from her gleaming teeth.
Az watched it all from the corner of his eye, wholly focused on his own search.
So close to the ocean, the ground seemed to be ripe with an ever-present dampness, droplets of water dripping from thick leaves, mist hanging in the air. Az’s boots squelched in mud.
"This is useless," the demon grumbled.
With a hand on Lya’s snout, Tharen replied, "You can’t expect to get anywhere if you keep fucking lumbering around, beast. It’s almost like you don’t want to find her."
Az stormed forward, breathing heavily in the Prima’s face, while Dyara and Lya growled in warning. Akira was ahead, the male wolf searching tirelessly.
"Don’t speak about me like you know me or what I want. You don’t. Not anymore, Tharen," Az seethed.
The Prima’s icy eyes shone an unnatural blue. "Sorry for assuming you’d rather the reason for your two decades of imprisonment be gone." Tharen raised a hand, made a fist, his fingers flexing out. "Just. Like. That. Because that’s how weak and fragile she really is. A little lamb."
Az would’ve believed him—if not for what Emarelia had revealed. The words tumbled over his lips and filled the mist-soaked air:
"Don’t pretend you want anything to happen to her.
You care for her, and there is no use running from it.
I know, she knows"—the tips of Az’s muddy boots brushed against Tharen’s—"and you know." Every word Az spoke, he felt the anger leave him. Tharen’s eyes sparked with something unreadable, and for all the time Az had known him, he swore he vaguely recognized the emotion. It wasn’t anger, but fear.
"If you don’t love her now, you will. It’s a matter of time with her, for she’s the one thing keeping us all from falling apart.
I know you know it. Quit lying to yourself. "
Tharen’s breaths came in hot, cloudy puffs before his face. The air grew heavy around him with his magic. He squeezed his eyes shut, held it for a moment, and when they reopened, crushing acceptance filled every hollow of his face and line of his body. But all he said was:
"The night wears on. We have to find her because I don’t want—"
Az could fill in what he didn’t say. He didn’t want her to be hurt.
It was all the acknowledgment the demon would receive from his verbal attack. He nodded, just once. Tharen stroked a hand over Lya’s soft snout, then whistled, spurring her ahead to follow Dyara.
As they continued their swift, yet steady, search of the forest, Az mulled over Tharen’s actions.
It was clear as a sunny day. The Prima cared for their Vincire—more than he would ever admit to anyone, even himself.
If not for Emarelia’s words, Az may not have understood just how much Tharen cared for her and…
How much Luella had grown to care for Tharen.
It didn’t hurt the demon, not in the slightest. But what did cause him such great anguish was the thought of her out there, alone and hurting, wondering if they would come for her.
What felt like hours, when the night wore on and they still had not found a trace of evidence for the two Fallen who had taken her, Tharen cursed loudly in the night, spinning to slam his fists against a nearby tree trunk.
His white hair hung around his shoulders as he heaved.
Lya traipsed up to her master, nosing along his thigh, growling in comfort.
As the smallest of the three, Lya was the babe.
Tharen clearly doted on her. He stroked a hand over her head, and Lya’s ears twitched.
"What if we never find the godsdamned bastards who did this?"
If that happened, Az thought he would willingly walk into a fire and let himself burn for letting her down. Tharen didn’t need to hear that. "We work well together. We did at the palace, when we got the others. And we will now. We’ll find her."
A sharp howl cut through the night, and Tharen jerked his head up. "Akira," he whispered, turning to meet Az’s eyes. "He found something."
Akira howled, once more, calling them to where the large white wolf stood among a collection of towering trees. A bridge swung overhead, laying shadows down upon the ground.
Akira paced in a circle around a spot on the ground. The leaves were rumpled and scattered in disarray. The air was thick with the scent of—
"Blood," Tharen seethed.
Az knelt before the ground, seeing the droplets of blood sticking to leaves and the dirt. His vision turned red with fury.
"Luella’s blood," Az echoed, voice sharp.
Akira pawed at the ground, rustling the leaves, as he walked, then trotted back again, repeating his steps.
"Does he want us to go that way?" asked Az.
Tharen, who’d knelt beside him, stood quickly, as if Akira’s trail would disappear like smoke if they didn’t follow fast enough. "Yes," he bit out, eyes scouring the ground. "The blood trails this way."
Gods help whoever dared to take Luella from them. Az was the gentler of his kind, but still a demon—and a demon they would see when he found the two Fallen.