Chapter 37
Chapter
Thirty-Seven
Ash shuddered at being back in Caelvyrn under the cover of darkness. The serrated peaks hemmed them in, high on the mountains, slicing the sky like obsidian blades. She tugged her beanie lower against the biting chill and leaned back into Race’s chest, waiting for her signal.
The wind shifted, parting the clouds to spill moonlight across the sprawling city far below. For a heartbeat, everything looked deceptively peaceful.
Monolithic buildings rose from the ground, and bridges threaded between peaks, their fractured grandeur catching the torchlight like ghosts of their former beauty. There, in the distance, rising like a crown from the heart of the mountain—the Palace of Drakemaere.
Their target.
Its crystalline spires pierced the mist, bridges stretched between them like veins of glass. Ash’s breath caught. Even ruined, it was breathtaking.
The last time she’d glimpsed it from the caves, she’d been terrified—dragged into the strange world against her will, everything foreign and monstrous. Now, here with Race, the sight struck differently. Awe and dread tangled in her chest…and sorrow at all her mate had lost.
Race’s gaze remained locked on the palace. But Ash sensed the storm within him through their bond, his buried fury, deep and cold. She slipped her hand into his and held on tight.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“It will be so again.” His voice was low, hard with promise.
Ash wanted to believe him. She really did. But memories of the usurper’s cruelty, of the betrayal that shattered the royal line, wouldn’t let her rest. Even with every safeguard protecting Race’s identity, fear still clawed at her chest. History could still repeat itself.
“Race.” She grasped his shirt beneath his leather jacket, her pulse hammering as the cold wind stung her face. His gaze met hers. “What if someone betrays you again? Like before?”
His thumb brushed her jaw, his touch warm, grounding. “Not this time.” His words were an oath, as if daring the Fates to defy him. “I’m not that young male anymore…” He skimmed her face. “I have you now.”
Her chest tightened, her throat ached. Then she firmed her jaw and nodded. She would drag the storm from heaven itself before she let anything happen to him.
He kissed her brow, then lifted his head, his eyes narrowing as he scanned their surroundings in the thin, gray pre-dawn light. Something in the air had shifted; she could feel it, too.
Ash followed his gaze. High above, hidden among the peaks, the Resistance’s wing squadron would already be in place.
“It’s time,” he said.
She drew in a deep breath, the cold burning her lungs. “Okay.”
Ash faced the peaks again. Arms raised, she mentally reached for the sky.
Her power slipped free, instinctive and ancient.
The air thrummed, answering her call. Clouds thickened, drawn to her will, vapor swirling like restless spirits over the mountain crests, forming larger masses.
Its agitation grew, turning darker and more resistant.
I feel you, she sent out mentally, but I need your help, please… She coaxed them closer, weaving the faintest breeze through the peaks.
The vapors churned, but she held on until they obeyed.
Cloud banks rolled together, heavy and dark, swallowing the horizon. A faint wind swept down through the peaks, guiding them. She spread her hands, coaxing the mass wider until the entire city lay beneath its shroud. The morning dimmed as if twilight had fallen again.
Stay… She released the tether. The dark clouds held but churned. Slowly, she lowered her arms. “There, that should hold.”
“Watching you command nature is a fucking turn-on,” Race murmured from behind her.
She laughed, breathless. “Signal?”
“Go.”
Ash stretched out her hands again. Lightning prickled through her veins, bursting upward in a white-blue arc, tearing across the clouds. The flash lit the peaks. In its afterglow, she caught a glint of navy streaked with pewter.
“There—metallic blue wings,” she rasped.
“It’s Braxion and his squadron,” Race confirmed.
A heartbeat later, flames rained from the skies. The palace gates erupted in fire, and she shuddered. Race’s arms came around her, his heat searing through the cold. “That’s our cue.”
Her stomach churned. Time to enter the demon’s lair.
Swallowing hard, Ash turned to him and frowned. His hair gleamed like moonlight in the dark—
“Wait.” She tugged off her black beanie and pulled it low over his head, hiding the telltale gleam of silver. “There. At least now you won’t glow like a bloody lantern.”
His brows arched, and he pressed his lips together, dangerously close to a smile. “Good cover.”
“Practical,” she shot back. “Less like royalty and more like a bloke I could take to a pub now.”
Soft laughter. “I’ll take you up on that when this is over. Just stay safe for me, heart-fire.”
“Ditto,” she managed, smiling despite the dread creeping through her.
His arms wrapped around her, and the world blurred into heat and shadow as he dematerialized them straight through the ether.
Thunder rumbled across the sky, and her heart raced with equal parts terror and fierce determination. They might all die before the day was over, but bloody hell, if they wouldn’t make Malcarion regret every moment until then.
Race reformed them in a shadowed ravine at the city’s edge, where stone yawned into the mountain and where the rest of his team, whom he’d already dematerialized, awaited him.
Brambles nearly swallowed the aqueduct’s entrance, hiding it from view, and the air stank of moss and rust, centuries of decay oozing from within.
He tilted his head, his gaze cutting to the storm above. Ripples of lightning flickered through the veil of dark clouds Ash had summoned, illuminating the jagged skyline for heartbeats at a time.
The cloud bank held steady—unnaturally still, ominous, like a storm waiting to choose a side.
His mouth tightened. Not this time.
Muffled thunder rolled across the peaks. Then came the boom of wings and fire, faint but distinct.
The Resistance’s squadrons continued their strike. With the battle fully underway, the sounds made the tunnel ahead seem even more like a waiting grave.
His jaw tightened.
“Cover’s holding,” Attor murmured, his charcoal clothes nearly invisible against the stone, his sword sheathed on his back.
“Not for long.” Race’s hand flexed on the dagger sheathed at his hip. “We move fast. No hesitation.”
Rhaedra lingered at the edge of the ravine, scanning sky and stone. Skaldr and Koal assumed their position at the rear, their swords braced.
“All right.” With a quick sweep, Race took in the group, pausing on Skaldr, who returned the look without a flicker—once his best friend, now a gamble. “Once we’re inside, we don’t falter.”
His gaze found Ash last. Even here, surrounded by stone and ghosts, the strength in her eyes held him steady, and his caged rage eased, just a little.
“Let’s end this. Ash, on me. Koal, stay on her. Skaldr, Rhaedra, watch the vents and slits. Attor, rear. Let’s move.”
Without another word, he crouched and tore the corroded grate loose. Metal screamed faintly before snapping free. Beneath the lichen and grime, the tunnel’s mouth gaped open—a wound carved deep into the mountain. Cold air poured out, damp and stale, whispering of forgotten memories.
He slipped into the narrow aqueduct first, his shoulders brushing damp walls, and his boots splashing through the shallow trickle.
The walls closed in, heavy and suffocating, hauling him back to Tartarus all over again. The weight of chains. The crush of endless stone. Bloodlust surged, vengeance boiling like a geyser. He wanted to burn down the fucking place. Kill them all—
You have to calm down! Ash’s panic bled into his mind.
Teeth gritted, the urge to shut down their mind-link surged, to do what he longed for, just kill. But without Ash, he was chaos and could ruin everything.
He dragged the rage down deep and buried it under sheer will, but it still simmered. Inhaling lungfuls of cold, dank air thick with mildew, he pushed forward.
This place wasn’t meant for six-foot-eight shifters. A sagging beam forced him to stoop, and for a heartbeat, he was eight again, splashing through the same stream of water while his brothers’ laughter echoed off stone—
“There! The pirate hides in the king’s aqueducts!” Drak’s voice rang out.
“He thinks he can slip away in the tunnels. After him!” Aerrax scrambled along the ledge, his silver hair flashing. “That pirate’s hair is like a bird’s nest!”
“I’m not a pirate—I’m looking for frogs!” Race shouted, running for his life. “My hair’s not a nest. You’re the nest-heads—”
“Lies!” Drak lunged, his wooden sword aimed. Race blocked and slipped, landing in the dank water, soaking his breeches.
“You stole the crown jewels from our ship!” Drak accused as Aerrax seized his wrist, his crimson eyes gleaming. “Caught you, sea-rat. Into the brig with you—”
Race fought to shut out the memories, but sorrow twisted his gut. His brothers were gone—how could they betray him?
A warm hand stroked his back, pulling him back.
I am here, Ash said softly, her steady warmth hauling him from the void. He dragged in a deep breath. It was enough to keep his lungs moving, to keep the darkness from swallowing him whole.
Mouth tight, he refocused and quietly moved along the aqueduct—
A prickling sensation brushed against his psyche. Race slowed, lifting a hand to halt the team.
Voices carried, rough with boredom. “…if it weren’t for the power he feeds us, I’d be gone. Damn cold duty.”
“Better cold than dead. Malcarion’s mad as a wyvern in heat since the forge collapsed. Leave your post, and he’ll skin you.”
“I’d rather face the wyvern.”