26 | Yaron
The Ports
The wind is warm against my skin, which is on fucking fire. My rut is raging in my bones, exacerbated by the fact that my beast and I feel eerily apart in our wants but in sync in our sense that something is very wrong.
The ports are typically a hive of activity, but not today. Today, there is no laughter, bartering, buying or selling. Today, there are only murmurs and whispers and fearful gazes and retreating backs seeking shelter. The mood is that of a city right before an impending storm. I glance up at the sky again and feel my lips curl back, as if I might fight the shadows. A low-hanging cloud casts more than a shadowy pall over the harbor, because beneath it, there is a terrible gloom.
Something is coming.
But from where? I’ve already stationed every guard that I could spare on the northern border, I’ve sent out patrol ships, I’ve had black cloaks inspecting every crevice — the black markets, the illegal fishing villages, the beaches, and even further south than that in case the undead come up from our disputed borders with Hjiel or on the Gold City side of the island. Even Owenna, for all of her promises and desire of a black cloak, too, has yet to deliver. I have yet to even hear from her and Sipho.
Nothing.
It has left my nerves frazzled and shot. My guards don’t speak to me. They cannot. I am surrounded by Betas, having sent the Alphas among my Riders in separate platoons so as not to further agitate me, but it doesn’t help. I am agitated. I am obsessed. I cannot even use my beastly senses to root out the undead because if I draw my beast forward, all he wants is to sprint back to the keep as fast as he can. She’s pulling me that way. She’s pulling me. She’s torturing me. And I do not have time for this.
I should never have broken the mandate. I should never have bedded an Omega. I should never have presumed to take a Lady.
The thought screeches to a stop, the wrongness of it assaulting me like ten thousand undead. My beast surges against my breast, my heart throwing itself against my rib cage, desperate to fight the thought that’s taken root. Thoughts of forsaking her beneath the blood of the red moon.
I would rather fall on my own axe than break that oath to her. I would rather offer up my crown.
“Is there, um…something wrong…uhh…my Lord?” Jesús pulls his horse next to mine as my contingent begins to convene at the mouth of the highway line.
I am defeated. I am horrified. I am needy.
“We will need to source wood from Glass Flats,” I mumble, turning Brega around.
“My Lord?”
“The highway line,” I say, pointing behind us to the dark fucking woods and the swampy highway line attempting to be made visible through it.
“The builders added gravel, sand and stones at your request,” Jesùs offers. “It is an improvement.”
“Now the mud has become so thick we will need to build bridges — gangplanks and a raised walkway,” I snarl. “It will be an effort, especially now that wood is so scarce on the South Island. We will need to import it and that is impossible with Mirage City holding both ports. Dark City will be no help until they erect the new port — if they are even able. It will be difficult to hold both Dark City and a new satellite port so far away. But if they are successful, Paradise Hole is too thick surrounding Dark City. I’ll have to go further north than that even to source wood enough to rebuild the highway line through Paradise Hole.”
“Ah. To Glass Flats?”
“Yes,” I reply gruffly, welcoming the distraction of tallying costs and coin to avoid thinking about Kiandah. Kiandah would enjoy traveling to Glass Flats. The castle is magnificent. And suddenly I’m spiraling. Picturing her expressions in my mind as she saw the Night Market… She is magnificent.
She is mine.
I am no coward. I will rule the Shadowlands, defeat the undead, kill the Fates and then I will sate myself like no Berserker has ever been sated. Fangs sunk deep into her neck. Knot fisted high in her sex.
My mind thrashes with unease and insecurity while Jesùs continues to blather on, engaging me in this mindless prattle about wood when it is likely the least of our concerns at the moment. “Rebuilding the highway lines through Paradise Hole seems prudent. Especially now. We could clear out more of the forest. It might make…occurrences like these less common. And of course, the merchants will be pleased. Well, once northbound trade resumes, of course.”
“Yes,” I grunt. My mind races, my toes curl. I want to be back with her. I never want to see her again. I want to ship her far, far away from me until the night of the red moon so I am not tortured like this. I want to keep her close, sear her to my skin. Brega stirs beneath me, neighing and stamping his feet. I correct him with a hypocritical huff, feeling restless and unsettled myself.
And it’s in the midst of my and Brega’s shared stamping and huffing that I happen to glance west. In the distance, somewhere shining over the cliffs, an errant burst of sunlight filters down through the dense cloud cover. I saw the sun too few times as a boy.
Looking at Paradise Hole, I’ve thought so often that ruin has come beneath my rule. That that is all I will leave behind. A legacy lost when the last Shadow Lord gave up his crown. I have worried often that I am not the Lord I thought I was — that he saw in me.
But looking at the sun? I have seen it shine in the presence of Fallen Omegas more than I have ever seen it in my life. I have seen it shine on Kiandah. I have seen it shine through her and it brings me the belief that perhaps, I am not a fallen Lord. Perhaps, it is a Fallen Omega who will help me shape a new legacy. I exhale, feeling calmer. I pat Brega’s mane as he too calms beneath me.
Jesùs clears his throat. “My Lord?”
“A moment.”
“I am not in a rush.”
“Then what is it?”
“I wondered merely if the Red Moon Festival would still be taking place in light of recent events?”
“The red moon will rise in a little over a week. That is enough time,” I say, but time enough for what? For me to raze Trash City and send the Fates and their dead army back to the underworld where they belong? Or for me to fuck it all, ignore her honor and simply throw her down and bond her? It isn’t enough time for any of that. And I wanted to honor her. Fuck honor. Throw her down and bond her…
“That’s good, my Lord. Very good. Dorsten’s and Hector’s packs were right then.”
“What?” Three more of my guard are visible now at the mouth of the Night Market. They are the last to return. We will be off, then.
He gives me a hesitant glance from the corner of his eye. “Uh…I only meant, for the packs that will vie for her. I heard rumors, rumblings that there were a few…preparing…in case it did happen at the next red moon.”
I cannot control my reaction, which is a problem for me. This whole thing is a fucking problem. I should have just fucking bonded her. Fuck her honor. Fuck the Fates. Fuck everything.
I snap Brega’s reins and steer him towards the docks where six large ships and many smaller ones remain tied up. There is a larger marina on the eastern side of the ports, but these ships are meant for the North Island. Now, they are simply idling, their wares being offloaded lest they spoil.
I frown as I look across Zaoul. His dark and murky waters hide many secrets, none greater than the question of how the undead are creeping onto our borders. We have yet to source the ships that brought them here. Perhaps, they were destroyed or burned and lie now on the bottom of the sea floor. It would be little effort for the Fire Fate to dismantle them. I have seen her in action. Her face so similar to Kiandah’s, her power so much more visible. But not greater. Oh no, her power is not greater.
I tilt my head to the side, my eyes unfocusing as Brega shuffles to the very end of an empty dock, his hooves clattering over the sea-salt-encrusted wooden planks. I think of the fire I saw from the Fate. It always came in bursts of red and orange. But everyone knows that the flame is hottest at its center where it shines the color of the clearest sky.
A bird caws overhead. Nothing new, but the sound becomes annoyingly persistent.
“Lord Yaron, we are ready to depart!” Leonard, a Beta and one of my Crimson Riders, shouts at me from the foot of the dock. His horse is braying almost uncontrollably and I can feel the trembling of Brega’s muscles beneath my legs. I frown.
“Calm that horse, Leonard.”
“Apologies, my Lord. All of the horses are agitated.” He points back towards where my guard remains clustered, about fifteen Beta men and women wearing cloaks that, at this moment, appear rather silly. They look like children attempting to control unruly horses on their very first rides.
I frown and open my mouth, but the bird caws once again. And then again and again, swooping lower before flying higher once again. “Fucking…” I turn and look up at the dark sky, which silhouettes this bird in sharp relief. Only, it isn’t one bird, it’s a dozen, and they’re huge. Larger birds than any I’ve ever seen. They have faces like owls and shine all in white. Bright white.
And when they dive, they dive as one.
A dawning realization only catches up to my reality when the birds crash in the center of the dock between Leonard and me. The pile of feathers congeals, bone and beak fusing together until a female form rises up from the mass that once was. Leonard has not met this female before and draws his sword while Jesús charges forward, calling for him to stand down. He and I have fought alongside this Omega before.
While Jesús explains to my other Riders who she is, she looks only to me. The female with the white skin and the white hair and the painfully light eyes has blood on her mouth that drips down her chin and jaw and neck. She lifts a thin arm and points to the sea. “Call your army. They have come.”
I turn as the world hangs on a pronounced and pregnant silence. The sea continues to lap and froth, charging in the directions Zaoul directs it. The boats continue to rock. I stare out at the horizon, against which I can only see the faintest outline of land far, far off in the distance, and only through the eyes of my beast.
“Freya, speak plainly.” Panic-fueled rage laces my words.
Freya’s frustration with me is clear in her tone, which rises to an inhuman screech. She advances on me, coming to tower over the top of my head on the knobby legs of a giraffe with a white pelt. Her bloody mouth distends and I am left looking into her black maw as she grabs me by the collar of my shirt and shakes me with the arms of a gorilla.
“They are here!”
Brega is calm. He responds to her dominance with a submission I have not seen him show anyone before. Freya and I stare one another down as I seek out the answers to my questions in her nightmarish eyes. Her face reforms to that of a human — in her case, a Fallen Omega’s — and she hisses out a final whisper, “The water.”
My lungs inflate, the air tasting of salt from the sea. I haul back on Brega’s reins and wheel him around to charge down the dock. Halfway there, I hear the boards of the dock explode apart. Brega lifts his front hooves and when he falls back to the rickety floorboards, I watch as an undead male soaked in sea water drags himself up onto the dock. He reaches for me, bones protruding from his arm.
Behind me, Freya releases a screech as she takes to the skies. She drops down again on the boardwalk of the port, right where it meets with the dock. I follow her, releasing my axe and, as Brega leaps, I lean over low enough that I’m able to reach the undead creature and cleave off its head.
“Everlyn, Gareth, Preena, Charles, Leonard, Natalya — disperse! Call the patrols dispersed east back to the docks. Call the patrols dispersed west to the keep. Clear the port town, clear the Night Market, and clear Orias! Take all civilians back to the keep!”
My Riders have not yet caught on to what is happening. It takes them several moments to react and drive their horses down the sodden highway line to do my bidding. In this time, I have rejoined the rest of my Riders at the edge of the water, which had begun to froth in earnest. This is not Zaoul’s doing. This is something else.
From the shallows rises a woman. A female. An undead female with black hair knotted with algae and sticks, skin slicked with water and grey-brown beneath, eyes murky and green, fangs for teeth. Her clothing is all but disintegrated, black with rot and dripping with sea life. She releases a screech and claws her way from the waves, finding the short stairs built into the stone that will bring her to land.
“My gods!” Jesús shouts, his horse threatening to free itself from his control and run. “How long have they been here, lying in wait like this?”
I do not know. I lift my axe and snap my reins to drive Brega forward, but Freya beats me to it, slicing forward as a white tiger and taking the undead’s head off with her teeth. She spits on the stone boardwalk and looks up at me, but my gaze is focused on the sight of the undead rising from the water one-by-one.
“How did they get here?” another voice shouts. I should have thought the answer obvious enough by now, looking at the state of these beings. They may not be swollen with saltwater, dead as they are, but their clothes and hair are a testament to where they’ve been.
I don’t answer, but Freya does, in an indolent tone. She says, “They walked.”
Heads pop up all over the place, as far out as the farthest boat. There must be hundreds of them — no, not hundreds. Thousands.
I feel the burn of bloodlust ricochet through my bones. We are but fifteen warriors here, and a Fallen Omega. We will not hold. “We will not hold…”
“My Lord, what would you have us do?” Jesús shouts. He must have arrived at the same conclusion.
I roar over the sound of the undead screeching as they rise up from the depths. “Once the port city is cleared of civilians, fall back to the keep. On our way out, we will barricade the highway line leading to Orias with whatever we can to slow them down. We will need to use the extra time to clear Orias. At this point, call all forces back to the keep. Mirage City has come for us and we will need to make our stand at the castle where Kiandah is.”
I had not meant to voice those final words aloud as an undead male draws himself from the water and comes towards me at a run. He is a fast fuck. Brega rears back and, before I can swing my axe, has trampled him. Two more undead follow on the heels of the male and as I feel my Riders move into line beside me — fifteen of us against an army — Freya comes to stand very close to me. She is scanning the skies, as if unconcerned with the bloodthirsty, venom-laced abominations.
Her lips move almost absently. “She is not at the castle.”
I freeze. Everything in my body freezes. “What?”
“They took her.”
There is only one they that Freya can mean. My blood runs cold, my face tightens. “Freya,” I bark savagely. “Speak plainly, girl!”
“There!” Her voice rises in an ear-splitting shriek. She points at a black and white falcon circling the bay. “The Beast Fate has unleashed their army. Your army will fall. They will kill your Omega at the cliffs. That is where they intend to draw you. But if you move now and fast, perhaps I can kill the Beast Fate and the Death Fate before they kill the Fallen Omega you have enchained.” She guts me a glare. “I will not stop them from killing you.”
I feel the threat of rut come over me at the thought of Kiandah in the grip of the Fates…
…and I am only just successful in battering it back.
“I cannot leave my Riders to die.”
Freya does not reply, but takes off into the sky as a bird, chasing the black and white falcon west, towards the Cliffs of Oblivion where my heart currently is. To where it has been stolen. Wrath is a difficult emotion for my beast to chew through, but I know that defeating the undead and the Fates and saving my female as well as my city requires calm. I choke on it as I turn to my Riders, who are all engaged with undead, cutting them down as they rise from the water…but there are too many.
“Jesús, I must confront the Fates at the Cliffs of Oblivion. You are in charge in my absence. Stick to the plan and hold for as long as you are able. Do not lay down your lives here when they will be needed to defend the castle. Triage where you must.”
Jesús raises his longsword and brings it down onto the skull of an undead male, who falls like a brick, just as dead as he should have remained. “My Lord, you cannot go alone!”
I cut down another undead, which claws at Brega’s hide. Already, my Riders here are so badly outnumbered. Natalya releases a scream as her horse is taken down. She defends its life with her own, slashing and cutting at the undead that rise up around her. It has been bitten. I charge over to it, Brega clearing the path before me.
I slash at the undead that cover her horse like ants over a crust of bread. The horse makes it to its feet, but it is no use to us now. I slap its hind and send it towards the highway line. Perhaps, it can carry a child or two to the keep. Natalya turns and continues to fight. I weigh the cost of my Riders’ lives against Kiandah’s…and know that I must sacrifice.
“Hold for as long as you can and then retreat as fast as you can. Barricade the way. Buy us as much time as you can afford.”
I snap the reins of my horse and take off down the highway line to Shadow Ridge, unsure of what I will find there, and equal parts furious and terrified.
My heart pounds louder than the thrashing of Brega’s hooves as we clear Paradise Hole and take the crossroads west, towards Shadow Ridge. We move at speed. Ordinarily the journey to the cliffs would take the better part of an afternoon, but Brega makes the journey within a quarter of that time.
On the way, we cross smoldering piles of burning wood. Oh yes, there was a battle here. My beast is ravenous and I feel my mind growing hazy with bloodlust as we crest the ridge and the murky outline of the Cliffs of Oblivion come into view as far west as the island allows and I know Kiandah is there. Because despite the fact that shadows have chased us all the way here, there is but a single errant ray of sunshine spearing down directly atop the largest finger of the cliffs. I know she’s there and that she’s still alive. I also know that she cannot have been taken by anyone other than the Fire Fate. And I cannot wait to bring justice down upon her in a rain of fiery vengeance.
The wind has picked up, as it is known to near the cliffs, though it carries the scent of something else. Something sweet and sickly that I recognize distantly. Something dead. They intend to attack from both sides, swarming south from the ports and east from the cliffs. They would not have drawn me out to the edge of the world without intending to throw me off of it.
And I’m walking willingly right into their trap.
The cliffs jut off of the mainland like fingers, each one no more than a kilometer wide at its thickest. They stand proudly several hundred feet above the thrashing sea waters below. Small beaches form inlets between them, like the skin between fingers when stretched, but the waters claim them often. The peaks are known for violent winds and rains, their grounds mostly rocky and covered in mosses and the occasional muddy patches of grass. They remain uninhabited — for good reason. Blocked by the highest peak of Shadow Ridge that separates them from the mainland, they are like little violent isles.
The road is clear. There are no travelers out today. I think back to the overturned cart and wonder who was among the wreckage. There were no bodies. Did they escape? Or were they killed and repurposed for the simple sin of having been out on a day that the Fates decided to come for me? It does not matter. Either way, they will be avenged. I do not intend to lose my life or Kiandah’s on this day. The Shadowlands will stand.
I descend the ridge and my heart and beast are intertwined in a violent dance as I take in the supremely unexpected and yet wholly expected sight.
Expected, because I know that Kiandah is here and that the Fates have her.
Unexpected, because the how is what I have yet to uncover.
Positioned in the center of the widest cliff are two Fates, an additional Fate enchained, and a little girl perched on the edge of a large boulder, kicking her feet. A whole host of accomplices continue working along diligently behind them, many from Trash City, but several from the Shadowlands — I can tell by their wardrobes. Owenna is among them.
She glances up at me as I approach, but looks away quickly and continues her discussion with a female I recognize as the Sea Witch innkeep and I am hit with a renewed rush of rage that Kiandah slipped away from me in the night to speak with this traitor. Then I dismiss it. It matters little now, but I do vow that, before this is over, that innkeeper will be dealt with.
I quickly calculate approximately twenty helpers plus the Fates, but no undead, which surprises me a little. The odds would be in my favor, except for the fact that my Kiandah sits in a vulnerable position in their midst. A lamb among two dozen lions. And this is why Shadow Lords do not take Ladies. Any other Shadow Lord would not have lost his most important possession to the cruel hands of another. His heart. My mouth twitches, as if to smile. Though it is a sad smile. The odds are in my favor, but it does not matter. I will likely die here, I realize. And I still do not regret any of it.
Our time was short but it was the best use of time I could have never dreamed up, because to dream it would have been to know that it even existed — that she even existed. I did not. And I know that, when the Death Omega switches from her task of creating undead, to taking my life so that I may join her foul creations, it is not my life that will flash before my eyes. It will be these past four weeks.
I come to a stop about twenty long paces from the clustered Fates, the wind whipping at my cloak and hair. Sipho, in chains of his own, kneels next to the Fate who is also wrapped head to toe in thick metal chains. She’s on her knees as well, her eyes flitting between me and Kiandah desperately. I recognize her and am aware that she must also recognize me. It is a far departure from the glassy-eyed female who sloughed off Berserker Maengor’s dead skin as if it were water.
And then a moment later, tried to kill her brother.
Now, her eyes are bloodshot and full of fire. She struggles against her bindings, her long brown hair tattered and unkempt. She has on a thick wool dress that appears mostly wet. Her face is drawn and her cheeks sunken. Her eyes are dark and miserable. A dagger of pity stabs me in the chest as I look upon Berserker Dragnovic’s sister, a powerful Omega who has only known captivity her entire life.
And yet…she is dangerous. Do I believe I would let her roam freely if I were given the chance? I do not know. It is a question I do not wish to answer.
My gaze switches across the Omegas and Sipho to my Kiandah. My sweet Kiandah. The only unchained ally I have here, and yet I know she has been left unchained for a reason. It is a slight. They do not know her at all and yet they know she is not a threat. Because she isn’t. They brought her here to kill her, and in all likelihood, she will let them.
But will she let them take any other lives?
I do not know how to answer that question, but I know I cannot rely on her to get us out of this. My beast beats out a rhythm beneath my sternum, thrashing and struggling, wanting to escape. I will let him do his best, but first, we must wait.
I gather strength and return my gaze to the Fates and the little girl. I hadn’t bothered to assess her face earlier, but I do when she smiles and waves at me.
“Ah. So that is how it was done. That is how you separated us.” I nod. “I am impressed, truly. You are a formidable group.”
“Thank you.” Odette steps forward and places her hand on Kiandah’s shoulder, tightening her grip. Kiandah winces and flattens her lips.
There is wetness to her eyes that makes me sad. I tell her softly, “It’s alright, Kiandah.”
She looks up at me, blinking quickly. “I’m sorry, Yaron. I should have stayed in the castle.”
“It is not your fault. You were deceived by the Fate of Mind and Madness. It would have taken a strong resolve not to fall to her,” I say, tipping my head towards the little girl who pretended to be a refugee from Ruby City — and I believed it — as she claps her hands. “And I should have killed Odette the first moment I saw her at the Dark City Omega’s ball…”
“Are you finished? Your parting words can wait. We plan on taking you alive.”
Interesting. I nod, my hands clasped behind my back as I continue to struggle through my beast’s reaction. He will get us killed quickly. And I am alright with that. Just…not yet. “What do you intend to do with me?”
“Something fun,” Omora, the Beast Fate, answers, a flash of teeth that look suspiciously fanglike peeking from between her pale lips. She is so pale. She looks so eerily like the Fallen Beast Omega in all but expression, it makes me wonder what happened to the female. She would not have fallen so quickly. Not without a savage fight. I fight not to scan the skies, wondering…would Freya truly wait for them to kill me before attacking herself? I nearly snort out a laugh. Of course she would. Her hatred of me only just falls short of her hatred of them.
Omora claps her hands twice. “Alright, I suppose we should get on with it then.”
“You’re handling this very well, my Lord.” Odette’s voice creeps me out. I’ve heard it before, but that was before I knew Kiandah existed. The voice, the one they share, is Kiandah’s now. Odette has no right to it. “If you wouldn’t mind coming right this way, you’ll see we have a ship waiting at the base of the staircase. Unless you prefer to use the cage. We had it created from the finest iron, one that cannot be broken by a Berserker’s strength — and we should know, we tested it.”
“With N’dogo?”
“Who else?”
I drift lackadaisically in the direction she’s pointing, to the nearest edge of the cliff, my hands still clasped behind my back. Once there, I look down. It takes me a few moments to see the stairs built into the sheer black cliff face and when I do, I’m surprised and can no longer unsee them. Jagged and dangerous, anyone who attempted the climb would be risking death. Each stair is a different shape than the next, some steps simply gaps in the rock, little more than foot holds. As I gaze down, a small white lizard passes from one nook upward to the next. I cock my head, then turn from it with a nod.
“Does Adoqhina wait for me on the ship?”
“No. She’s holding Ruby City. It doesn’t take much to hold it. The Betas there were so eager for our arrival, they turned their bellies up to us right away.” Omora smiles, flipping her white hair, streaked with black that Freya does not share even though they are counters to one another. The doppelg?ngers have so much in common…and so little.
I nod. This makes sense. I tip my head at the young girl. “Very clever to have disguised yourselves among the refugees. An impressive display of your gifts, Sy.”
The little girl giggles and, as she rises to standing, a tall, spindly female with black hair and eyes and menacing grin rises up and out of her skin. “I am assuming the ones who posed as your grandparents were your other Fated sisters?”
She bats her eyelashes coyly but, on her, the expression appears violent.
“How long could you have kept that up?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Long enough for its purpose.”
“But not long enough to pose as Berserker Maengor for all those years. Which is why you had the Death Omega do it?”
Sy’s gaze sharpens and shifts to the Omega in chains. She doesn’t answer, but returns her gaze to me and presses her lips together into a tight, thin line.
I snicker, causing all three Omegas to stir. “But you failed, didn’t you? Your control over her mind has weakened since we last had the pleasure of meeting one another. She does not appear as Berserker Maengor anymore. She appears to be quite her own.”
The Death Fate, Noon, shifts in her chains, her expression burning furiously at the other Fates. Tears track down her cheeks. Sy hisses and lunges at Noon and Noon falls to her side in a clear display of pain. I regret my words and untangle my hands from behind my back.
“Alright. You are here for me. As you said, let us get on with it.”
Odette leaves Kiandah’s side and swishes towards me in a dress just like Kiandah’s, all but the scorch marks. Kiandah’s dress hangs from her skin loosely, riddled with charred bits and holes that expose her unblemished skin. She is stronger than she thinks she is. I know her strength. My beast and I submit to it gladly.
She must see something in my gaze that causes her to thrash. Sy goes to her and places her hand on the top of her head, causing her to wince. But she doesn’t cry out.
“Sy. Enough,” Omora hisses. “We’ve wasted enough time. Let’s go.” She gestures to the lethally narrow staircase, as if expecting me to simply walk down to my doom. As if they truly think I’d leave Kiandah with them without first offering up my own life.
I cock my head at Sy and she must read my expression because she withdraws a short, stubby knife from her robes and presses its tip to Kiandah’s throat. “I don’t need my gifts to kill her.”
I don’t react, though my pulse is pounding. On the outside, I appear calm. Calm.
Right.
“You really think I will go with you willingly?”
Odette, wearing Kiandah’s face, snarls, “I think you are bonded to this female. I don’t think you have a choice. Now go. And when you go, you can control Kiandah through your bond and force her to obey our will. She will anyways because it’s clear this pathetic excuse for an Omega is in love with you.”
I smile, feeling the heat of her words warm me. Both because they are true, and also because they are so, so wrong. “You are wrong.” I am not bonded to her, though I ought to be.
“Oh? You think I’m bluffing.” I. Always I. Never we.
I nod. “I do.”
Odette turns from me and makes it to Sy’s side. She pushes the female out of the way, malice in her gaze and in her arm as she takes Sy’s dagger and presses it to Kiandah’s neck…
And slides it in cleanly.
I have miscalculated.
The Fates have miscalculated. “Odette, what have you done! We needed her!” the other Fates scream.
But I hear them as if standing at the end of a tunnel. All I can feel are Kiandah’s breaths shortening as she chokes on her own blood. All I can taste is her life as it fades.
Her eyes roll back into her skull and my beast claws its way to the fore as I attack, panic fraying my conscious and unconscious thoughts. I surge forward, claws extended, intending to what — save her? I can’t. I know she’s already gone, lost to me, to the ashes…
And then comes the fire. Bright reds and oranges. They engulf me, but I don’t feel the pain on my skin as I fall, defeated. I feel only the horror of having lost what no other Shadow Lord ever has.
His heart.
His Lady.