Chapter 49
Zadriel
Breathy sighs and raspy moans burrowed into Zadriel’s ears, pulling him from a dreamless sleep.
His eyes were dry, lids sticking as he slowly peeled them open.
A thick, coppery flavor coating his tongue.
He groaned, cracks slithering through the dried blood on his chin, fresh crimson shining in the moonlight when he lifted his hand and wiggled his bloodstained fingers. At least he could move them again.
Clouds puffed in the air in front of his lips, a chill seeping through his cloak and clinging to his flesh. Zadriel rolled on his side, daring a glance toward the tent. Knowing what he’d find.
Bright red tent flaps fluttered, unbound, Elodie and Silas’s passion on full display.
The brute’s back muscles rippling with every punishing thrust, Elodie moaning loudly while he slammed into her from behind, her hands slipping on silky sheets.
Zadriel huffed a quiet laugh, hoping she’d lose her balance and land face first on the bedroll.
May the Fates grant that small retribution.
This wasn’t the first time he’d awoken to the sounds of their copulating, left to rot in the cold—they’d been passionate since the brute’s near death. Though, it was the first time Zadriel had total control of his body.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to sit up, praying his captors wouldn’t notice. His muscles burned, a tug in his chest demanding he head northwest—was Baith near? Had Aoife, Aedlin, and Darius found a safe place to hide until he could return?
Waves crashed against the shore in the distance, sea brine permeating the air—it had to be the Fendu Bay. Perhaps they were near Esper Rocks, Mother willing. He could crawl to Baith from there if he must, but first Zadriel needed to free himself.
How long had it been since he was taken?
Days blurred together, the frigid winter air losing its bite with each dip of the sun over the horizon.
He’d tried to track the passage of time while Elodie marched them away from Galdon’s Crossing, her Fae prize’s wrists bound in rope, forced to stumble behind her black stallion.
But the curse’s torment gripped his focus the further they strayed from Darius.
He’d collapsed more times than he could count, dying without the release of death.
Choking on blood and dirt while the horse dragged him onward, that gods forsaken ring staring at him from atop Elodie’s finger. Endlessly.
How did Elodie know Cillian? When did she get her hands on his damned ring? His brother wore it the last time they’d spoken, and Zadriel knew he’d never part with it willingly, lest Brennan flay him alive.
She’d mentioned letters and his teachings... Had Elodie financed Cillian’s quest for the throne, his elegant clothing paid for by her coffers? Was she a noble who’d owed him a favor? Some Halfling who decided to take a risk and remain in Berwick, seeking guidance from a connection in Eden?
Zadriel couldn’t imagine his brother working with someone who’d betray her people so readily, but Cillian had many secrets. Including the ring. Whatever it was, however it made him see magic, Zadriel was never made to understand.
There was one thing he knew for certain—it didn’t belong with Elodie.
He wasn’t sure it should belong to anyone.
Whatever the ring did, it was dangerous in the wrong hands and Zadriel couldn’t leave it behind. It was a relic to bury in his brother’s stead, even if it meant facing Brennan’s wrath once he discovered it permanently gone.
Zadriel took a long breath, tipping his head back to stare at the evening sky, searching the stars for...
hope? He couldn’t be sure what he needed.
His mother once said his eyes reminded her of starlight, of the comforting dark of his father’s gaze speckled with her gold.
Perhaps he was looking for her. For guidance she could never give him.
What would she say if she saw her son now? Scarred and leashed by the man who ended her, betrayer of her people... a stain on her legacy.
He stood on shaky legs, staring down at a viscous puddle of his blood, knowing there was too much of it.
Even if he managed to take the ring and run, Elodie had exactly what she needed to force him back.
He could attempt to clean it, sacrificing his cloak to soak up the mess, but unlike a certain Little Witch, Zadriel couldn’t turn to smoke, shivers already coursing their way through his aching bones.
Losing what little warmth he had would likely spell his death, his Fae healing only able to withstand so much.
Unlike his curse, nature was unwilling to ebb when he reached his limit, her cold happy to soak into his flesh until the life within it stilled.
Zadriel wasn’t ready to slip into the next realm. Not yet.
Instinctively, he reached for the corner of his cloak that held a trace of Mora’s blood, hoping for comfort. Finding nothing but pulled threads and hastily cut material. He couldn’t help his quiet growl—what little he had of his mate was gone, yet another thing Elodie had taken.
“What would you do, Little Witch?” he whispered.
Likely something brazen.
Perhaps that was why the Mother bound them; Zadriel could learn from Mora’s fierce heart.
He took a slow step forward, a thin layer of snow and half-frozen dirt squishing beneath his boots. In the distance, sculpted sea stacks withstood the push and pull of a receding tide, snow dusting the scraggly pines atop the Esper Rocks. He was right—they weren’t far from Baith.
As if the Fates laughed at his discovery, a sharp, stabbing pain pulsed through his abdomen, the thread between him and Darius cinching tighter yet again.
Contorting around his organs in a silent demand he move closer.
Air wheezed from his lungs, fresh dribbles of coppery blood trickling over his tongue.
He swallowed hard against it, pressing his hand to his stomach and pushing ahead.
His limbs were heavy, but he forced himself toward the pavilion, its garish red color so bright it nearly hurt his eyes. They might as well have stained the fabric with blood, a perfect match to Elodie’s cloak, the structure so large it was fit for a queen’s garden.
Elodie and Silas’s coupling grew louder, and Zadriel prayed they continued to focus on one another long enough for him to steal Cillian’s ring—he hoped Elodie had removed it like she claimed she would.
Tent flaps fluttered in the breeze, cool air biting Zadriel’s cheeks.
Winter refusing to relinquish its hold to an eager spring.
It was an effort to remain quiet; silence was as simple as breathing for his kind, but tonight every breath threatened to rattle in his chest, tremors ravaging his legs.
Gods, he was tired. To fall into the arms of a peaceful dream, to the meadow and the Little Witch, was all too tempting, but he towed the ground cloth instead, eyes trained on Silas’s sweat-slicked back.
Holding his breath. When neither of them noticed his presence, Zadriel allowed his dark gaze to drift, searching for an obsidian void.
Knowing it would stare back once he found it.
Clothes lay in disarray on the floor, cloaks, tunics, and breeches strewn as if they’d been tossed carelessly in all directions. In the middle of the madness, brown leather peeked out from under a maroon silk tunic and an old wolf pelt.
Cillian’s pouch.
Zadriel didn’t give himself a moment to think—slipping to the floor, he crept toward the bag, moving as swiftly and silently as he could.
“Ah, Silas, oh my gods.” Elodie’s voice pitched high.
Heat pricked Zadriel’s cheeks, climbing all the way to his ears.
Holy Mother, why was this his life? He wished to escape into a hole in the ground and remain there until he could forget this night.
Until the sounds of Silas’s moans and Elodie’s pants while flesh slapped against flesh were stripped from his mind.
Yet, there he was, crawling on the tent floor, the image of Silas’s pale, naked rear flexing as he thrust into Elodie burning into his mind.
When his trembling hand slid over the cool metal buckle of Cillian’s bag, he nearly sagged. It wasn’t the ring, but it was a piece of his brother Elodie didn’t deserve to keep. Pulling it toward himself, he clutched it to his chest and searched for his other prize.
The tether around his innards wrenched tighter, agony blooming like wildfire in his abdomen. Zadriel managed to stifle his cry, clenching his jaw so hard the joints cracked. Blood crawled up his throat, filling his mouth and slipping between his teeth, and still he kept quiet.
It was his limbs that betrayed him. Collapsing to the ground, Zadriel grunted as the air was forced from his lungs, droplets of blood spraying all over Silas and Elodie’s clothes.
The space became silent, Elodie and Silas stilling. They turned, eyes going wide when they found Zadriel panting through bloodstained teeth, the ring swiveling on Elodie’s finger as if it too was eager to gawk.
Damn the heavens, Zadriel was a fool to think she’d removed it.
Another wave of pain crashed through him, but he clutched the pouch tighter, a menacing growl rumbling through the tent.
Sharp canines bared as he stared them down.
There was a promise of retribution in those endless black eyes, flecks of gold churning in their depths. Power peeking out from within.