Chapter Two
Our world is not ready for the gods.
Even though it was the gods that created our world.
Tabitha Wysteria
Mal sensed the presence before she saw it, lingering like a shadow at the gates of the wyverian castle.
With purposeful strides she approached the great entrance, only to halt at the sight of Thanatos.
The very sight of him raked at old wounds, stirring questions she could no longer silence.
She longed to strike him for every lie, for every truth withheld from the beginning.
Yet instead she reined in her fury, drawing close until scarcely an inch separated them.
A thought pricked her mind: was Ash, even now, standing at one of the glassless windows above, watching them unseen?
‘He is not,’ Thanatos murmured.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You swore never to read my mind.’
‘I did not,’ he said softly. ‘But I have watched your expressions for more than a thousand years, Melinoe. They are not so easily forgotten.’
Thanatos looked unchanged, as if time itself bent around him.
In his dark raiment his skin seemed bleached of all warmth, pallid as moonlight.
His eyes were twin abysses, black as the endless night, and his curling hair shone with such whiteness that even snow would pale beside it.
It was agony to look upon him and not be snared once more by that terrible, unearthly beauty.
‘Is this your true face?’ she asked.
Thanatos’ lips curved into a faint smile. ‘Not quite. This form is fashioned in likeness to mortal flesh. My true visage… tends to terrify those on the brink of death. It is not a sight the dying bear easily.’
‘And what does it look like?’
‘You have seen it before.’ His sigh was soft, almost wistful. ‘You simply do not remember.’
‘Then show me.’
A low chuckle rumbled from his throat. ‘No, Melinoe. I cannot.’
‘Why not?’
He leaned close enough for their breaths to mingle, his voice brushing against her like a caress. ‘Because I only ever revealed that form when we lay unclothed, and you could truly savour it.’
Mal recoiled a step, heat flashing across her cheeks. ‘Do not provoke me.’
Thanatos lifted his shoulders in a languid shrug. ‘I do try not to.’
‘Why are you here?’ she demanded, turning as though to retreat into the castle. Yet his footsteps followed, and she froze, uncertain whether it was wise to permit Death itself across her threshold.
‘You must leave,’ he said.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Take the Fire King with you. Hide, for a while, somewhere they cannot reach.’
Mal frowned. ‘And why would I do that?’
‘Because they are coming for you.’
‘Who?’
‘My sister Eris, the one who once wore the witch Vera’s skin.’ He dragged a hand along the sharp line of his jaw. ‘She conspires with Persephone. They crave vengeance.’
‘They cannot kill me.’
‘No. That much is true.’ His gaze caught hers then, and in the fathomless dark of his eyes she glimpsed something rare, something raw, something that looked perilously close to fear. ‘But believe me, Melinoe… they can do something far worse.’
‘And what is that?’
‘They can take from you those you love.’
A dull ache spread through her chest. ‘So I should leave? As a coward?’
‘No, Melinoe,’ he said softly. ‘As one clever enough to outwit them.’
‘I will not run, Thanatos.’
He reached out and laid his hand upon her stomach. Their eyes locked, and though the gesture ought to have been strange, intimate to the point of discomfort, it was not. It felt inevitable.
‘We never had one of our own,’ he whispered, his gaze fixed upon the gentle curve of her belly. ‘You were always too afraid of becoming her, of becoming your mother, and abandoning your child.’
Mal stepped back, slipping from his touch, her chest tightening with a sharp ache.
‘You had to forget, Melinoe,’ he said, a ghost of a smile curving his lips, though it never reached the fathomless dark of his eyes.
‘It was the only way you could truly live. But I will not let you endanger either yourself or the child. Leave. Flee to some distant place where their reach cannot find you, and then hide the child well.’
Mal’s reply died on her lips as a sudden pull made her glance over her shoulder.
Ash stood framed in the doorway, clad in wyverian garb that caught and magnified the light, gilding his golden skin and fair hair until he seemed more radiant still.
The likeness between the two men struck her like a blow: mirror images, yet one born of sunlit brilliance, the other of endless night.
Ash said nothing, only inclined his head. And in that silent gesture, Mal understood that they must heed Thanatos’ warning.
‘When the child is hidden,’ Thanatos said softly, ‘return to me. I shall be waiting. Until then, I will draw their attention elsewhere.’
Before Mal could shape a word, Thanatos turned sharply on his heel.
The ground shuddered, tearing open with a roar, and tendrils of shadow surged forth, coiling about him.
They dragged him down into the abyss, yet in the final instant, he twisted, gifting her a smile and a mischievous wink before the darkness swallowed him whole.
…
Mal swept into her chambers and drifted towards one of the many grey columns flanking the glassless windows.
Beyond them stretched a world that reminded her too keenly of the Underworld—ashen skies, jagged mountains, shadows that clung like a shroud.
She leaned against the cold stone, both hands resting protectively upon her stomach.
A gentle touch stole her breath: a hand brushing a dark strand of hair from her shoulder, followed by the softest kiss pressed to the curve of her neck.
‘Wyverians do not run,’ she muttered, eyes fixed on the wyverns wheeling above the mountains. ‘We fight.’
Ash’s lips lingered at her throat in answer.
‘Is this truly the path we must walk to keep her safe?’ she asked, turning to face him at last. Her voice trembled with steel and sorrow. ‘I will not become my mother.’
Ash inclined his head, but in the burnished depths of his golden eyes she glimpsed something fleeting, something she did not like.
‘If we run, if we hide… will she be safe?’
He nodded once more.
‘And will we—’ Mal’s breath hitched, spiralling into panic, until Ash cupped her face between his hands and compelled her to meet his gaze. In that instant her breathing eased, calmed by the quiet fire in his voice.
‘You and m-me,’ he whispered, stumbling over the words, ‘and her.’
Mal closed her eyes and let her forehead fall against his.
‘Where must we go?’
‘To your uncle,’ he said.
Her brow furrowed. ‘My uncle Morwen?’
‘No,’ Ash replied softly. ‘The other one.’
Her purple eyes widened. ‘Morthos? He was banished when I was still a child. No one knows where he dwells.’
A faint smile touched Ash’s lips. ‘But I do.’
‘And can we trust him? My father cast him out for a reason.’
Ash kissed the tip of her nose, then brushed his lips across her cheek. Taking her hand, he pressed it firmly over his heart.
‘Trust me, Mal.’
Mal inclined her head in silent assent before leaning forward, her lips claiming his.
Her fingers slid into his fair hair, tugging him closer until a low groan rumbled from his throat, the kiss deepening with a fierce, desperate hunger.
When she was this close to Ash, she could no longer feel the corrosive pull of the God-Killer gnawing at her soul.
She did not know why. Ash had once murmured that perhaps it was the nature of their curse; to be bound together, inextricably, for better or worse.
But what would become of her if the day came when he could no longer stand at her side?
Mal refused to think of it. She refused to dwell on curses, or the future, or the gods who hunted her with punishment etched into their design.
With a sudden urgency, she pressed him back onto the vast wyverian bed and climbed astride him. His golden eyes, usually so bright, were now darkened with desire, and she held their gaze unflinchingly as she stripped him bare, until his body lay revealed against her black sheets.
‘Mal…’ he breathed.
‘Don’t speak,’ she whispered, her voice low and commanding. ‘Not now. Just let me love you.’
She read the pain and worry etched in his golden eyes, yet still he nodded, understanding what she sought. With steady hands he slipped the long black gown from her shoulders, and without hesitation Mal straddled him, guiding his length into her. A gasp tore from both their throats in unison.
She moved against him with slow, deliberate rolls of her hips, a smile ghosting her lips at the sight of Ash undone—his head thrown back, breath ragged, hands gripping her waist as though she were the only anchor left in the world.
Mal’s gaze never left him. She watched every expression, every tremor of pleasure—banishing thought of gods, curses, and futures from her mind, until at last they both broke into a chorus of breathless curses as release claimed them together.
Afterwards, she collapsed beside him, his arm encircling her, his fingers threading through her dark hair in slow, affectionate strokes.
In silence they watched as the grey heavens surrendered to night, the blood-red moon rising like an omen above the mountains.
‘You were right,’ she whispered as his lips brushed her ear. ‘We are the villains.’
Hand in hand, their palms entwined protectively over the swell of her stomach, Ash and Mal drifted into sleep.