Chapter 58 #2
There’s shadow between our mouths, a showy gag made of magic that Stark and I so carefully put in place to be obvious but not restrictive.
It buzzes and pulses against both our lips.
I swipe my tongue along Stark’s lower lip, and he uses a tendril of his own magic to bring my head closer to his, crushing our mouths together.
I groan at the sensation of the press of our shared power and his hot mouth.
He raises an eyebrow, managing to look nonchalant even in this vulnerable position. “I think you like me all bound up like this.”
I snort. “Don’t die, and we can give it a try later.”
We make a dramatic sight, me riding cavalierly straight into the camp of my enemy on my shining silver-white wolf.
Thick, wild tendrils of shadow pulse behind me, anchored to the magical restraints around Stark and Cratos.
The deep black of the shadows creates a disorienting texture against the ink-black fur of Cratos’s coat.
I half expect a challenge from the human soldiers posted on watch, but they just gasp and back away when they see us coming, leaving plenty of space for me to march in with my vicious cargo.
Killian must have told them to expect me.
The paths between the tents are wide and well trod, already traversed by wolves and their riders.
As we move farther into the mess of tents, we start to spot the Bonded and their direwolves; they’re camped in groups of two and three, tents spaced out enough that their wolves can sleep in the open air beside them.
Anassa’s ears go back, teeth half bared in a snarl, as she passes the wolves of Phylax pack, wolves she’s known for decades who’ve now spent more than a month supporting a Siphon pretender.
I study the Phylax Bonded and notice that many don’t meet my eyes. Shame over what they’ve done? Fear of the Mad Bitch of Sturmfrost, who can rip them apart with a mere gesture?
Or is it Killian’s influence over them that keeps them from meeting my gaze?
I turn my face ahead.
Across my body is a satchel I’ve strapped tight to me, its prominent position an obvious signal that I’ve brought the Tears with me. My crown is on my head, and the two Tear necklaces are securely around my neck, tucked beneath my tunic and coat.
Lucien’s crown and the Tears from the tower and the statue in Linsfall are wedged into the pack, and the buzz of energy from their combined power sets my teeth on edge. I’m waiting until they’re needed to pull them out, but my hand doesn’t stray far from the pack’s drawstrings.
My bag with the shards of the Dire Blade is with me, too, mostly because I wasn’t sure what else to do with it. Maybe I can get out the useless hilt and clobber Killian over the head with it, I muse darkly.
“Noemi,” I reach out mentally, mind stretching down the familiar pathway. “Are you in place?”
There’s a strange blankness in my mind where she should be, and I swallow, focus on keeping my face an impassive mask. “Stark, Noemi isn’t responding.”
His body tenses in the shadowy restraints. “What do you mean, she isn’t responding? Is she injured?”
“Let me try again.” I steady my breathing and reach out again, forcefully this time. “NOEMI.”
For another minute of painful waiting, there’s nothing, just that blankness. And then…
“Meryn, I’m here,” comes her familiar voice in my head, and I let out a small sigh of relief. “Everything is going according to plan,” she confirms, and I thank her and relay the message to Stark.
Up ahead, a Phylax man on a wolf scrambles to the side to make room for me and Anassa to pass. I make eye contact with him and pull up short, tired of drawing this out.
“Where is he?” My voice is emotionless, deadly.
The Phylax raises a shaky finger, pointing it toward the rear of the war camp, and continues to back away, staring down now at my cargo.
The infamously brutal Stark Therion, trussed up with his wolf like a piece of meat.
Anassa leans over to snap at his direwolf, and the two of them nearly jump out of their skins to get farther away from us.
We don’t have to walk far. After Anassa takes only a few more steps, a pool of shadow starts gathering on the path ahead.
Into it steps Killian, cloaked in my shadow, my power.
His dark golden hair shines bright, perfectly coiffed, as if we’re in the middle of a ball, not a war camp. His face looks healthy, rested. That unnatural beauty every Siphon possesses, mixed with the shadowy power gathering around him, gives him an otherworldly look.
But still, something about his face is off. I narrow my eyes, looking closer. Little twitches, like he’s focusing hard on something or tensing muscles in his jaw.
I wonder…
When I see him in the shadow realm, Alistair isn’t there.
In the waking world, are they locked in a constant struggle? I file that away as something I can use.
Killian smiles brightly, as if we see each other every day, and raises a hand in greeting. “Beloved, you’ve made it.”
I swallow bile as I manage a small smile back at him. “Killian.”
I’ve seen him in that dreamworld more times than I’d like, but it’s different seeing him in person. It hasn’t been all that long since our last meeting, when I tried to kill him and he disappeared by stealing my power.
And yet everything has changed.
“I see you brought our Phylax Alpha the treat he was promised.” Killian’s voice is lazy, silky smooth. He approaches us with easy confidence, walking past me to look down at Stark and Cratos behind me, bound and gagged on the ground.
I resist the urge to spit in his face.
Twisting in my seat, I keep my voice cool as I twitch my fingers, levitating Stark and Cratos another foot off the ground. “Where should I take this?”
Killian leans over and lightly brushes Stark’s cheek with a fingertip, smirking. Disgust and anger roil in my gut. If he tries to hurt Stark…
Killian stands before I launch myself at him, and I sit back, taking a deep breath.
He waves toward a huge tent, gaudy and ridiculous among the utilitarian look of the rest of the war camp. Just as Noemi said. “You can drop it off over there. But come right back, kitten. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
He pauses, pursing his lips. “And I’ll need proof that you’ve brought the rest of the Tears with you, as promised.”
“Or?” I say, expression blank as my heart hammers in my chest in anticipation of violence.
Killian tilts his head and drawls, “Or we sack the city immediately and kill every last Bonded turned traitor to my throne.”