Prologue #2
I blink and he’s in front of me. “Do you wish me to lie to you, Amariel?” A rough hand cups my cheek as he speaks.
Quivering, I shake my head. “Don’t start now.”
He guides my eyes to his. “You move around this forge like sparks desperate for the hearth, for a purpose. But everything you touch is turning to ash. Fire, creation—it’s wonderful, but sometimes that fire burns out of control.
I do not blame you for what has happened.
But we can not defeat the elves. Numbers do win a war.
We…” he pauses, eyes blistering with rawness, “grow less each battle.”
Not even Lucian can voice how many of us remain. The truth is too painful to declare.
Soon, we will be none.
“We cannot win. There is honor in truth, Amariel.” He speaks as one sinks into a hot bath. Relaxed. At peace.
Yet all I feel is cold water. Another reminder: this is my fault.
Lucian has remained by my side, but I hate it. I deserve the death the other gods have faced.
“If whispers could shape truths, I’d press my lips to your ear and speak them into existence. But I am war; I am grit, terror, and honor. I am brutal honesty. It’s time to accept that our time is coming to an end. Cushions do not help the blow; they make death more prolonged.”
This is why I love him. He’s not a lifeboat—sometimes boats never reach the final destination. He’s the monster lurking beneath the waves, ready to carry me away.
How badly I wish to be plucked away from this life, to have all my mistakes wiped clean.
But I have a stubborn flaw: I’m a fixer. Another flaw is that I break the things I fix, which allows me to fix them again, then shatter them. It’s a terrible cycle. So why can’t I step back and let someone else fix my mistakes?
“What would you have me do?” I whisper, tasting salt on my lips. “Hand myself over?”
“No.” He glides his lips over mine. I inhale sharply. “If I have one more night left to live, I want every moment to be spent holding you, tasting you, making love to you. I want the memory of you to transcend the trauma and agony of death.”
He seizes my lips with a passion that invades my mind. The heat of his tongue curling and sucking on mine melts my willpower, but I’m a master at molding objects, not him. I know what he’s trying to do. I won't allow it, but I indulge for one second.
I kiss him back, pushing up on my toes, snaking my hands around his muscular shoulders. His invisible chaos runs through my body, wetting my core, trembling my knees. My palms slide down his chest. I push him back, admiring him from a distance.
“I’m not ready to die,” I declare, licking my lips and savoring his taste.
He’s a tide that comes back; his arms ensnare me as an anchor halts a boat. “Neither am I, but hopes and dreams have no place in war.” He lowers his mouth to mine.
How badly I want to have his lips silence me, to smother out my problems.
I twist free and walk back to the fire.
His growl is a hiss of metal that is quenched, hardening, but then he tempers himself, ensuring his determination is not too brittle after my rejection. His walk back to his spot is a long voyage.
“We are biding time, Amariel.” Refusing to leave my forge, he glares at me.
Those eyes, two orbs of pure black with streaks of light, have seduced me more times than I am willing to confess.
“Life is precious, and if I have to kill a thousand to spend one more day, one more hour, or second with you, then I will, but I am not blinded by love like you. I know the outcome of this war. We can not win.” He levels me with an honest stare.
“I have come to terms with that because I know each day I survive is one more night with you. You can toil away in here, but before our two suns rise, I will have you under me and then on top. I will have you every way I can dream of. There is one thing the elves can not slaughter, and that is my dreams. For I will dream of you always. In life. In death. You are my dream, and I refuse to watch you transform into a nightmare, Amariel.”
My bottom lip trembles with need. The door to my forge swings open. Erevan, God of Enchantment, enters. He has the power to alter things, whether it be moods or flesh and blood.
He’s dressed in his finest clothes, as if there’s a festive occasion and not a silent dinner. His brownish-yellow gaze rakes over me. He sees not the soot covering me but the imprint of his fingertips and the red hues left by his silken sheets.
Erevan longs to keep me a prisoner in his bed. I desire it, too.
Gold-spun threads around Erevan’s collar are illuminated with his magic, casting rays of rainbow light in the forge. His hair resembles waves of a golden sunrise frozen in time for me to admire.
A feeling of calm tries to penetrate me, and for a moment, a mere blink of an eye, I allow it. I grant myself mercy and forget the wrongs I have done.
If Lucian is an unmoving stone, Erevan is sand.
Lucian wants people to see the beast. He wears white in battle so others can see the stains of death on him. Erevan hides his nature with beautiful clothes and wide smiles. Like sand, he invades the smallest cracks, slowly scratching away your defenses.
“Since when does turbulence settle?” Erevan eyes Lucian, mocking him with playful disdain.
The only time these men can withstand being in a room together is when I am here. When the gods were at war, I was sent to negotiate peace between them. I did, but it cost me my heart, which they both claimed as their own.
Erevan saunters over to me; his shadow blocks the heat of the fire that warms my cheeks. “My love,” he purrs in a deep tone that settles into my body, causing an ache to sing throughout my very being.
Lucian flicks his fingers. The battle in his palm intensifies. “She might be your love, but she is my addiction. Everyone knows addiction outfights and outwits love on any battlefield.” His smile sharpens coyly.
“I will be no one’s if we do not think of something,” I point out.
“Thus my appearance.” Erevan places a lover’s kiss upon my lips. My body betrays me as I part my mouth and accept eagerly. The weight of Lucian’s stare presses into my skin with more heat than his fingers possessed a mere day ago.
I belong to neither of them yet both of them at the same time.
The three of us are pandemonium. I, the God of the Forge, created it. Lucian, being Turbulence, fueled our battling hearts. Erevan, the God of Enchantment, made us believe the three of us could be happy amidst conflict.
Erevan cups my face. “Even gods need rest, Amariel.” His eyes roam my face with worry.
I look away. “How can I slumber when our world dies? This is my—”
In a sudden jolt, Erevan grabs my hips, soldering me to him. “Do not utter those words again. You made a gift; they used it as a weapon. It’s their fault. You need to rest. Come to my bed tonight.”
“I hardly think a night with you would grant her rest.” Lucian's eyes turn smug. “I assume she must do all the work to get you off.”
“If you wish to watch us, just ask.” Erevan devilishly grins as he squeezes my ass, and my cheeks flush.
“I don’t watch. I take heed,” Lucian replies sharply. The challenge in his voice is as clear as the drums of war.
“A strong man knows when to comply,” Erevan counters. “A weak man just continues to bark orders.”
Lucian grinds his teeth.
I sense an argument stirring. “Stop it,” I plead, stepping back so the fire of my forge ripples over my spine again.
“The enemy sleeps, thus their successes,” Erevan tries to persuade me.
I raise my chin. “I will not close my eyes until I see hope, and if it can’t be found, then my eyes will close for death.”
“Enough of this talk.” Erevan rolls his eyes, turning to Lucian with a rare spark of agreement. “I have a plan. We can not save our world, but that does not mark total defeat.”
Lucian closes his palms, silencing his magic. “I’m listening,” he says warily.
A chill ripples down my body. They’re… agreeing. This truly is the end of times.
Erevan grabs my hand, pulls us closer to Lucian, and then he does something he usually doesn’t; he lowers himself to the ground and sits next to Lucian. He places me on his lap and kisses my hair.
From down here, the weight of the world settles on my shoulders. I feel as tired and dry as bones, aged by the unrelenting suns.
“She was on my lap hours ago.” Lucian winks with a wicked flare.
“Stop it!” I snap as I slide off Erevan’s lap. “You two will be fighting over my bones if we can not find a way to end this war.” That silences them. “What idea do you have, Erevan?”
“We regroup.”
“You mean retreat?” Lucian mutters in disgust, propping an elbow on his raised leg.
“Yes.” Erevan levels him with a glare.
“And where, pray tell, would we retreat to? The elvish armies have us cornered; they wait for one of us to show up and fight so they can stab us with one of the swords they stole. We fight to defend our wall every night and day. There is nowhere to run but into battle,” Lucian scoffs, cracking his knuckles.
Some of the dried blood flakes off, falling like snowflakes.
Those of us who survived now fight from a distance; Lucian is the only fool crazy enough to battle beyond these walls. I forge weapons for us while the others have been draining their magic dry to defend our last stronghold, but even then, it is not enough.
The enemy has too many soldiers. They know if they can get close enough to subdue us, hundreds will die, but one will get close enough to end us.
I’ve seen it happen.
Erevan clasps his hands. “Another world,” he replies coolly. “I was thinking of Panthas, to be exact. We have been there before. We are familiar with the lands and creatures. It’d be the perfect place to gather again.”
“What?” Lucian sputters.
I grab Erevan’s hand; black soot stains his golden skin. “That is forbidden.” My voice is a closed book. As gods, we discovered how to open up portals that lead to another world; it was deemed forbidden to corrupt lands not our own.
“By whom?”