Chapter 44
Wolfe
“The Cost of Restraint”
Iwalked the narrow path between the tents at the Rabanequse base camp, my shadows curling at my heels like faithful hounds.
Dawn had broken. The scent of iron and damp pine hung thick in the air, laced with the bitter weight of betrayal. Trees whispered in the wind, speaking of secrets, including my own.
They knew I didn't want to be here. Knew I was hardly fit for Lord Commander duties when the only thing I craved was the mage I shouldn't want.
Even now, the image of Elariya's perfect naked body writhing against my sheets would be my damnation.
I could still taste her on my tongue, still hear her moans echoing through my mind, still feel her body pulsing against my skin, wrecked by the pleasure I gave her.
The ghost of her lingered in my mind, taunting me with salvation and sin wrapped in the same breath. It took every ounce of strength I possessed to leave her.
I still wanted to murder Garrick for his interruption. I could see myself doing it, too. Maybe I'd strangle him with his own belt. Dreynthor next—it wasn't like he wouldn't deserve it. And I'd even wring his fucking raven's neck, too.
I knew they were all just doing their jobs. It was just my rotten luck and fucking bad timing. Now I was a wreck of need and frustration. Every nerve in my body screamed for my mage, and I was stuck out here with my cock so hard the ache for release burned from the inside out.
There was little point in acknowledging I shouldn't have touched Elariya like that. Not when I knew I'd do it all over again.
I'd wanted her to give herself to me. She had. But I wanted all of her. I'd wanted to be the first to make her bleed and stake my claim to her body.
At the same time, I'd be a damned fool if I ran around thinking with my dick when there was so much going on I couldn't ignore.
There was the situation with the rebels and their insurgency, and then... there was the matter of Elariya’s father to consider. The fact that she was his daughter meant little to me, but I couldn't allow my heart to get in the way of justice once I found him.
I'd practically asked her to stay here in the magical realm with me when I told her she'd be mine forever if we crossed that final line. She'd agreed. She hardly took a moment to think before she said yes.
That wasn't something I'd ever forget. And despite all the rules of right and wrong, I still intended to own her body.
My hand flexed at my side, the leather of my gloves groaning under the pressure. I needed to focus, at least for now. Whatever awaited me with this spy required my full attention.
I reached the command tent at the far edge of the camp, its canvas walls darker than the rest. Armored guards stood outside with their weapons at the ready. They bowed deeply and stepped aside without a word to let me in.
I pushed through the heavy flap and was greeted by the metallic tang of blood, fear, and sweat. Torchlight flickered against the walls, casting writhing shadows that seemed to move with malicious intent.
In the center of the space, a male sat bound to a wooden chair with iron shackles biting into his wrists and ankles. His blood-soaked uniform was torn and muddied, but I could still make out the insignia for the Capital Guard.
His head hung forward, dark hair matted with dried blood, and the tip of one of his ears clipped.
He looked like he'd been dragged through all the hells. The gentle rise and fall of his chest were the only signs that he was still alive. Each breath came as a wet rasp, punctuated by the soft clink of iron shackles whenever he shifted.
Behind him stood Bastian and Alaric. Blood stained their gauntlets.
It was them who'd found this spy. They could have dealt with him, but I'd been called in to dole out the punishment because the severity of his crimes meant treason.
Our friend here had fucked up his mission spectacularly. Once he'd been searched, they'd realized he was a traitor. For some time, I'd suspected there'd been one amongst us. Now I knew for certain.
“Name?” I spoke to no one in particular; I just wanted the answer.
“Marcus Thorneweather, my Lord,” Bastian replied.
Marcus raised his head as my boots struck the packed earth floor, recognition flickering in his battered eyes. Not just recognition of who I was but what I was capable of. The stench of his fear told me all I needed to know.
“We caught him trying to cross at Thornwick Pass. Along with maps of our patrol routes and supply lines, he carried these,” Alaric said, opening a sack containing bulbous herbs and reeds used for potions. The maps made sense. Those did not.
I circled the prisoner slowly, letting my presence fill the space like a predator sizing up wounded prey. His breathing quickened with each step I took.
When I faced him, he lifted his chin in a pathetic attempt at defiance, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
I needed information from this guy. He was perhaps the most valuable prisoner we'd taken. Intel from him could give us intelligence of plans the other rebels might not have known. That was if he talked, and how long it would take to break him.
I didn't have the patience for the aggravating as fuck silent interrogation I'd had with the other rebels. Especially since this bastard had cost me my night with Elariya. This time would be different.
“Marcus.” I said his name in a low, deadly calm tone. “Here's how this is going to work. You're going to tell me everything. Who you're working for. How long you've been feeding them information. And what their plans are.”
“I will tell you nothing.” He coughed.
“No? Nothing at all?”
“No. I don't know any—”
The rapid transformation of my face into Death's skeletal features and hollowed eyes silenced his denial.
Marcus' skin drained of color beneath his bruises, and his eyes protruded like they might burst from their sockets.
The fear in the air instantly reeked. I could almost touch it.
In this form, my senses were a million times stronger than the average Fae's.
I was also far more unhinged and wouldn't give him a chance to screw with me.
“Don't fuck with me, Marcus. You know something.” My voice dropped to a guttural rasp that scraped against my throat. I pointed a skeletal finger at him and smiled. I must have looked horrific, like a nightmare taking form.
I leaned down until we were at eye level, close enough that he could see the promise of pain in my gaze. Close enough that he could smell the violence radiating off me like heat from a forge. “Now, tell me what you know, or I'll kill you here. Start with what you were doing at Thornwick Pass.”
“Yes, my Lord.” The formality was laughable; so was his willingness to talk. “They needed me to get them supplies. Food and ammo.”
“What do they want with the herbs?”
“I don't know. I just picked it up from the drop-off point. I don't even know who left it there. My instructions were sent by a raven.”
“Where is the camp?”
“Kyphuus.”
Kyphuus. There'd been nothing there when last we checked. Just a village of humble Fae farmers. I narrowed my eyes and looked from Alaric to Bastian.
“Where exactly is this camp in Kyphuus?”
“I've never been there before, but it's in the Marstin Woods.”
“That can't be right.” Alaric shook his head and glared at Marcus. “I was there a few hours ago with my entire unit. We saw nothing.”
“They have a camp there for certain,” Marcus insisted. “I was given a stoneport compass to find it. There's been talk of this camp for at least six months.”
I gave him a steely stare. “At least six months, traitor? What else aren't you telling me?”
My shadows reached for him like fingers, swarming around his face.
Marcus panted, eyes widening like they were silently screaming. “That's everything, my Lord. I swear to it. It's the truth.”
“Truth? What made you betray your oath to the City Guard? What made you betray your oath to the kingdom? You've kept information from your superiors for at least six fucking months. The recent murders are your fault.”
“No, no. I swear I had nothing to do with that. Please, you have to believe me.”
I backhanded him so hard the chair shook. “I don't have to believe a godsdamned thing.”
He coughed blood and gasped for air as more blood spattered from his nose. “Someone else in the City Guard was responsible for that. Not me. We don't know which of us is working for them. That's how they keep things secret.”
I glared at him through my dark eyes, and somehow, I knew he was telling the truth. There were more of them—more traitors. That explained a lot but saddened me. “Pray tell. What turned you?”
He hung his head for a moment. When he met my gaze again, his eyes were filled with tears. “My baby...” He paused. “She became afflicted with the slivershade blight.”
The words sank their claws into my ribs and twisted. Ice flooded my veins, hollowing out my chest and settling deep, where old wounds never fully healed.
Slivershade blight.
My gaze found Alaric's. That was the same disease that took our mother from us.
Slivershade blight was an exceedingly rare, slow-wasting disease. It was believed to be the result of exposure to forbidden blood magic or contact with a cursed object or creature.
So much knowledge and power ran throughout the magical realm, but no one had ever found a cure. The only thing you could do was borrow time. Borrow life.
It began as a fever. At first, you thought you had a cold. Until the darkening of the blight spread beneath your skin. Your veins turned dark purple, then black. Eyes lost color. First dulled irises, then fully grayed over. Skin thinned, becoming parchment-like, sometimes translucent.
Whispers or hallucinations began in later stages. Eventually, if you survived all of that, you'd either become locked in your body until you died or turned into a Hollowborn.
That was what we called the ones who didn't die but didn't survive, either.