Epilogue
ROMAN
The night of the fire…
D eath, as it turned out, was not as peaceful as Roman had expected. The sword pierced his heart, Connor’s claws ripped open his throat, and then the darkness enveloped him. Darkness and nothingness were a welcome release from the suffering. He went somewhere painless, peaceful. It was everything he wanted.
He had no idea how long he was dead until he heard a voice that said simply, “Rise.”
It wasn’t a kind voice, and when he jolted back into his body, he was seized by pain like he’d never experienced before, agony that no human body should experience. His eyes fluttered open, and he stared into the face of a fearsome and terrible beauty. The walls were burning and the air smelled of ash, but the woman before him wasn’t afraid. Behind her, two feathery wings as black as a raven’s spread and lifted.
A hand landed on his chest, nails abnormally long at the end of slender fingers. The hand smashed him against the wall, then yanked the blade embedded in his chest until it dislodged from his heart and ribs and clattered to the floor. But the hand gave no comfort. It drew back, allowing his body to crumple. His head slapped the stone.
Pure torment crashed over him. Blood flooded his mouth. He was drowning in it, his lungs full from where the sword had punctured them. His head throbbed and his eyes burned from the fire and the ash. He flopped and spasmed hopelessly at the feet of the creature as the flames grew closer, scorching his skin.
“Relax. It’s just your body learning it can’t die,” the winged thing said in a high-pitched, melodious voice. “Ignore it. You will endure.”
Roman curled on his side and emptied his stomach. What left his mouth was mostly blood, but he noticed afterward he could breathe again. Air, hot and ashy, flowed in and out of his lungs. It hurt and it burned, but he was alive.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” the dark queen said, her silver hair falling over one shoulder. “The dragons did a number on you, didn’t they? But I need you, Roman. The Order can’t reach its full potential without you. Your father was too soft. For too many years, the creator’s abominations have bred like cockroaches on this world. You were the only one with any vision. The way you murdered your father for the cause was admirable.” The thing’s voice was smooth as a starless night. “Now rise, Roman. And hold your place as grandmaster.”
Roman climbed to his hands and knees. He could move now, could breathe. But could he stand? He stared down at the wound in his chest. It was already healing. And the flames were licking his skin, but he wasn’t burning. He put one foot under him and then the other. Slowly he rose and looked his dark angel in the eye.
“Better. Now leave this place. And if anyone in the Order questions your survival or your authority, tell them it is a gift bestowed on you by the destroyer.”
“The destroyer,” he repeated quietly. Roman bowed, and then he obeyed.
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