Chapter 39 Ditch #2
“The oldest tale: she loved a warlock and followed him there. He left her behind, and her demonarchy disowned her. No going back.”
“You ever find her?”
“I did. She was shocked to see me alive. Let’s just say you never want to be a jump scare to your own dam!”
He couldn’t imagine that pain and wished he could’ve shielded Ditch from it. “She show any remorse?”
“None.” Another shrug. “I expected nothing, so I wasn’t disappointed.”
“What became of her?”
“She died defending her latest lover when rogue warlocks overran his stronghold. Loyal to him to the end.”
Her mother’s to-the-death protectiveness of another must’ve been even more of a mindfuck for Ditch. “Is that when you decided to rule all the worlds for the House?”
She grinned. “My clichés are between me and my goddesses.”
He suddenly motioned for her to stop, listening intently. Just a large rodent in the brush. They continued on. The Helter felt too quiet—no game, relatively few monsters—as if the creatures were awaiting something.
He rubbed his nape. Biding time…
She asked, “What were your parents like?”
“They were warm,” he admitted quietly. “Loving.”
“How unsurprising.” Then her eyes narrowed. “After your father died, what happened to your mother? Mated Lykae don’t live long after the death of a fated one.”
Because they couldn’t part with the other half of their soul. “Grief overwhelmed her. She made her way to the Firis, no’ far from where we embarked, and sacrificed herself in those flames.” Watching Ditch’s fire powers had left him conflicted. Being in this place…
His admission clearly got her thinking. “If something happened to me, would you repeat her dive?”
He held her gaze. “I will no’ let anything happen to you.”
Oh, the wheels were turning behind her shrewd green eyes. “Your very survival hinges upon mine. And you have an army. Seems like I should use this opportunity to pick more fights.”
“I thought you dinna let others clean up after you.”
Ditch smiled, yet her humor soon faded. “The reverse is true too. All your enemies—not just your brother—would assassinate me to take you out.” She had nailed a very real political conundrum.
“The number of my enemies is low but not zero. All the more reason we’re stronger together.”
She didn’t reply, just gazed up when a flock of neoptera passed overhead. Those insect-like humanoids—who loved to peel skin from living bodies—peered down at them with interest in their compound eyes, their wings rasping.
He shook his head slowly at them, letting them see a flash of his beast, and they skittered on.
He told Ditch, “Bottom line: I’m no’ ready to give up on us because one sorceress said we canna be together.”
At the glimpse of his beast, she said, “How will you handle the next moon? If the portal opens on Mount Nothrior, I don’t suggest you spend the night caged there.”
“You could surrender to me for one night. You’d never regret it.”
“Surrender. Such an ugly word. I regret even the thought of it. So what will you do? If your beast rises and trespasses in the Witchwood, we will kill you. We have twenty-eight nights to set traps just like Pemphre’s. If you arrive, you die.”
He slowed before her. “I’ll handle my containment. As I told you, I will never inflict upon you something you doona want.”
“What have you done in the past to keep Lykae jailed on these nights?”
“We cage a subject and then beat or maul him until he canna run.”
“So my claiming or your maiming.” She sighed, theatrical. “Maiming it is!”
He swore under his breath.
“Alternatively,” she said, sweet as poison, “I could send you a spell to reinforce your cage and tamp down your beast, much as the Mount’s ward does.”
“Alternatively, you could send a spell to seal my cage forever.”
She laughed. “But I won’t—this time.” With a lift of her blond brows, she asked, “Do you trust me?”
To a point. “Send two spells,” he said after a pause. “One for Straegan’s cell as well. He grows stronger.”
“Two spells,” she agreed. When the trail leveled out, she added, “I’ll be very busy until the Hunter’s Moon and will brook no interruptions. Will you respect my boundaries, or must I melt you?” Sparks danced along her horns and tail. “Honestly, I could go either way.”
“I’ll respect them,” he said quietly, lifting her chin with two fingers. “But doona mistake restraint with retreat. I’m still coming for you.”
For a charged moment, she allowed the touch, eyes gleaming with challenge. “You aren’t the first doomed king to tell me that. You won’t be the last.”
His thumb grazed the edge of her jaw as the red mists parted around their bodies. “You make even doom sound seductive.”
She stepped back before he could kiss her, dropping down to trace Jastorgh’s six sigils in the dirt. The markings pulsed with an infernal light. “And yet this is where we part ways. The demon will have to come back for you.”
A shimmer of heat split the air as Jastorgh appeared, wings half furled, eyes wary. “Ready, demonkin?”
“Show me the stars, Jastorgh,” she said with a teasing lilt—meant, Thane knew, to make him seethe with jealousy.
But when they teleported away, he felt only hard-won relief that she was gone from this cursed place, safe for now.
A hiss rippled through the nearby fog. Then another and another. Followed by the scrape of claws.
Wendigos. A good number, still less than expected.
Drawing his blade, glad for any battle to distract him, he sighed. “Because gods take me, I already miss her.”