CHAPTER 44
The first rain did not fall as it always had. It came without wind, without thunder, descending in a steady, reverent hush, as though the sky itself had learned restraint. Those who stood beneath it spoke of a presence within each drop—not seen, but felt.
Snippet from “The Book of Natural History” By Priestess Antonella Killoran—
The following pages are unattributed to High Priest Aurelius Venn
Lyra slumped on her throne. Her eyes scanned the room, searching for a spark of insight, but the silence offered no answers. She felt a dull ache in her chest, a hollow space where helpful words should have been.
When Elio finally struck his fist down on the arm of his chair, signaling the adjournment, the pantheon rose with a collective, relieved sigh.
Lyra watched as Alaios moved. He didn’t linger for the post-meeting chatter like the others.
He was already a blur of black suit and granite will, moving with the long, ground-eating strides that always made him seem like he was walking against a perpetual headwind. His intent was clear: to escape her.
Lyra shot out of her throne, the turquoise silk of her dress a ripple of color against the pale marble.
The sound of her quick footsteps was swallowed by the high ceiling, but she ran, desperate to close the distance.
She burst through the massive doors of the Council Hall and into the corridor, sprinting to keep pace with his relentless escape.
"Alaios!" she called out, her voice sharp with desperation.
He didn’t stop. Without altering his pace, he continued his swift walk towards the gates of the Strife Temple. He was a wall of indifference, a self-imposed fortress she was struggling to breach. I deserve to know why he has tossed me aside.
Finally, just as he reached the mouth of the hall leading to his domain, she lunged forward with a force of wind shoving her the distance, her hand shooting out to latch onto his forearm. The contact was an electric shock, instantly slowing his momentum.
He stopped, but he didn’t turn fully; his posture rigid, his gaze fixed on the distance.
"Why are you avoiding me?” she demanded, her breath coming in ragged gasps from the raw emotions swirling in her. Her grip on his arm tightened, holding him in place. “Why did you not come to me when I got back?"
He finally offered a fractional shrug, a movement so slight it was almost dismissive. “I figured you’d be busy,” he said, his voice flat, devoid of the familiar growl that usually charged his words. He still wouldn’t look at her, focusing instead on the space just over her head.
The cold cruelty of his offhand indifference hit her like a physical blow.
She had braced herself for this, but this…
this was something far more devastating.
His utter lack of emotional response, his casual dismissal of her pain, was a stark, brutal confirmation that she meant nothing to him.
It was as if she were speaking to a statue, carved from ice and apathy.
Her eyes burned, and the words barely escaped her throat, a threadbare whisper against the heavy silence. “Do you even care that I’m back?"
Alaios finally tilted his head, his dark eyes still refusing to make contact with hers, instead surveying the empty air above her shoulder. “Sure,” he replied, the single word a blade of polite detachment. “You’ve probably got lots to do without me bothering you."
Her voice shook now, trembling with the force of the hurt and the raw, untamed storm of her emotions. “You never bothered me until you started ignoring me. Did I do something wrong?"
She felt the last of her control shatter, along with the last flickers of control over her power.
The sky, which seconds ago had been a warm, brilliant blue, was now an ominous, bruised purple.
Jagged veins of white-hot lightning danced across the churning clouds, and thunder cracked like a whip, echoing with a deep, resonant roar.
Big, icy droplets of rain fell in sharp, stinging splashes that chilled her face.
The simple, unvarnished question cut through the granite mask.
Alaios’s shoulders slumped, the tension momentarily draining from his immense frame.
He slowly shifted his gaze, and his dark eyes finally met hers.
The coldness was gone, replaced by a devastating mix of pain, guilt, and a profound, exhausted tenderness that made her heart seize in her chest.
He sighed, a deep, rattling sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world.
Before she could process the change, he swept her up.
One massive arm hooked beneath her knees, the other anchoring her back, and he lifted her against his chest as easily as if she weighed nothing.
The warmth seeped into her skin as she tried to breathe him in, a deep inhale that filled her nostrils with his familiar, comforting scent.
The sudden shift—from crushing rejection to possessive strength—left her breathless.
She instinctively locked her arms around his neck, burying her face in the expensive, familiar feel of his skin.
A brief, fleeting thought of Amelisse and the missed appointments flashed through her mind, but it was immediately incinerated by the warmth of his embrace.
The heavy, anchoring feel of his body, the steady beat of his heart against her chest, seeped into her skin, and the rest of the world vanished.
He carried her with long, powerful strides directly toward the towering black granite walls of the Strife Temple.
The heavy doors, which had previously blocked her way, slid open at his approach, and he carried her across the threshold and down the austere, echoing corridor toward his private chamber.
The rain had ceased, the storm contained, now that she was finally where she belonged.
The heavy doors to his private sanctum parted and then slammed shut behind them, sealing them into a profound, charged silence.
Alaios set her down on the bed, lowering her onto the comforter as though she were the most fragile, precious thing he had ever held.
He remained standing over her, his imposing figure silhouetted against the dim light of the room.
He was still rigid with the contained tension that was beginning to crack around the edges.
"I’m sorry,” he whispered, the sound a soft, raw breath of air.
Lyra reached up to him, her turquoise-sleeved hand brushing against the black wool of his suit jacket. “There is nothing to be sorry for,” she replied, her voice soft but firm. “Just tell me why.”
He leaned onto the bed, his weight pressing the mattress down by her hip as he lowered himself, bringing him closer to her level.
He brought her hand to his lips. With her breath held tight, he pressed a tender kiss into the very center of her palm, a silent, devastating act of uncharacteristic softness.
"I almost lost you before I even truly had you,” he replied, the sound thick with self-recrimination.
“I should have known a fanatic would come at you. Every time I let you leave this temple, I left you unsafe. I have been around long enough to know better, to know how some mortals think they are acting with the divine right of a god who doesn’t even know they exist."
Lyra exhaled softly, shaking her head. “I saw him a few times, and I should have known something was wrong. I could have spoken up and told you, but I chose not to. It was just a coincidence and nothing more, I told myself."
She watched the pain in his eyes deepen, and she reached her other hand to cradle his jaw.
“You can’t take the blame for the free will of a madman, Alaios,” she whispered.
"I shouldn’t have let you leave this temple—this room,” he countered, his eyes dark with regret.
“I wanted you to live a long, mortal life.
If I had not approached you… perhaps you still would have had that.
Every time I looked at you after the attack, all I could think about was how close I came to losing you. I–"
His words were a punch to her gut when she realized how much he blamed himself.
A feather-light brush of her fingertips silenced him mid-sentence, their soft pads pressing gently against his lips.
“I don’t regret a thing. Something Seren said sticks with me: this was always my path.
And my path seems to be linked to yours.
” Her breath caught faintly before she forced herself to finish, softer now. “Unless you don’t want it to.”
He laughed, a harsh, dry sound like crumbling leaves that was immediately swallowed by the quiet the room fell into. Her chest hitched, a silent gasp caught in her throat, as she strained to hear his words, her eyes wide and fixed on his face.
"From the moment I saw you, I wanted to ruin every path that could take you away from me,” he murmured, his eyes burning with fierce, possessive heat.
“I wanted to keep you somewhere beyond the reach of everyone who had ever made you feel unwanted.
Somewhere no one else could touch what had already consumed my entire attention. "
He leaned down, his mouth finding hers with a devastating urgency that was pure, unrestrained.
The kiss was deep, punishingly sweet, and full of agonizing want.
He shifted his weight, his immense frame pressing her deeper into the softness of the bed.
The dam of the separation shattered instantly.
Her grip on his suit jacket was desperate, not just pulling him closer, but trying to merge their bodies into one solid, unbroken whole.
Every part of her body was screaming for the contact she had been denied for so long.