Chapter 45 #2
And then he kisses me. A kiss that tastes of sunlight and sorrow, of love that has survived too many endings. For a moment, there is no war, no gods, no fate, only us, and the fragile beauty of the last dawn we may ever see.
Daed surges to his feet, lifting me with him. My thighs lock around his hips as he devours my mouth, hungry and unrestrained. He stalks backward until the back of his legs hit the edge of the table, then drops to sit, lips still claiming mine like he’ll starve if he stops.
I pull away for a moment. “I thought this isn’t what you needed?”
His canines lengthen and gleam, and my breath hitches at the sight of them.
“Only a fucking fool would not want this,” he says.
A low sound rumbles from him as he trails hot kisses down my throat, his tongue dragging along the center of my chest. His hands slide under my robe, grip tightening on the back of my thigh before climbing higher, palms claiming my ass, spreading me open to straddle him wider.
His cock strains against leather, nudging my heat, cruel in its restraint.
I drag my hand down the curve of my neck, over my chest, tugging the fabric aside to bare my breast. His mouth is there instantly, lips closing around my nipple, tongue flicking, circling, teasing until I gasp.
My fingers keep moving, lower, lower, sliding between my thighs before finding his lap.
I rub him through the leather and he groans against my skin, breath hot, sending a violent shiver through me.
I fumble at his leathers, desperate, shaking with need, and the moment my hand closes around the perfect, smooth length of him, slickness pools between my legs. His gaze lifts to mine, ravenous, worshipful. As if I am sunrise and sunset and every night he’s ever wished for.
His mouth breaks from my breast, parted in awe as I sink down on him. The first stretch steals both our breath. He shudders, a sharp gasp punched from him as I begin to move, slow at first, savoring every inch, sliding from the swollen head down to the exquisite base, riding him with purpose.
At first he lets me set the rhythm, hands firm on my ass, holding me steady but not controlling the pace.
“Gods, Amara,” he groans into my chest, voice wrecked. “Don’t fucking stop.”
I don’t. I can’t. I move faster, grinding, circling, chasing the heat blooming hot and desperate inside me.
Then his grip changes. Tightens.
He snarls softly, fingers digging into my ass as he thrusts up, hard and deep, stealing the breath right from my lungs. I bite my lip to keep quiet, but when he drives into me again, deep, brutal, perfect, I can’t hold back.
I slap a hand over my mouth but he won’t have it. He pulls it away, twists my arm behind me, pinning it there as he fucks up into me, relentless, hungry, each thrust a command.
My breath breaks. My body shakes. The heat becomes unbearable, sweet, scorching, splitting me apart.
I cry out as I come, trembling around him, and he catches my mouth with his, tongue claiming mine as he follows, thrusts stuttering, voice rough and undone against my lips as he spills inside me, the two of us breaking together.
We lie together on the floor for hours, resting in each other’s arms, dozing in and out of sleep.
It takes all my strength to stand up. To kiss him goodbye, but I know I must see Mirael and Keeper Erania one final time.
Reluctantly, he lets me go, though his fingers linger against mine before he reminds me that we will meet again at dusk.
Solena and Orios do not emerge from their cottage.
Ronin spends the day with the blacksmith, the steady clang of hammer striking steel ringing through the village, while Reon and Zyphoro spar in the forest. Their laughter drifts faintly on the wind, and for a moment, I remember Daed and Zyphoro doing the same the last time we stood together in the Grove.
The memory warms me, until it brings with it another ache. Ashen.
Guilt tugs at me like thorns beneath my skin.
In the chaos of all that has happened, I have not given his spirit the mourning it deserves.
I miss him. The way he’d climb along my shoulder, get tangled in my hair, his deep purrs vibrating through my bones and the way he’d transform into the beast he truly was: fierce, beautiful, loyal beyond measure.
I can still feel the phantom brush of his smoky mane between my fingers.
I never thought I could love a Fae prince, and I never thought I could love a creature born of the void. Yet I love them both. I wish Ashen were here now, that I could ride into battle with him one last time. But that fate was never meant for us.
“Will the Souls aid you?” Keeper Erania asks as we sit in the field. Mirael perches on a nearby rock, staring absently into the distance.
“I cannot ask that of them,” I say. “Besides, they are needed here. They are the heart of this forest.”
“So are you, Amara,” Mirael murmurs, finally meeting my gaze.
“Someone else must carry that mantle while I’m gone,” I tell her gently. “It needs to be you, Mirael.”
She shakes her head, her dark hair flowing like ink in the wind. “I am not you. I don’t have your power.”
“You have something greater,” I say. “You’ve kept our people alive by your will alone.”
Her jaw trembles. “I couldn’t keep our sisters alive. Lira and Saren are gone because of me.”
I reach for her hand. “They are not gone, sister.” I place one hand over my heart. “They are here.” Then I press my palm to the earth. “And here. They walk with us always.”
Where my fingers touch the soil, tiny buds unfurl, stretching toward the light, soft green and trembling with life.
“I know little of the void,” Keeper Erania says quietly. “But it is a place where nothing grows. If your power is rooted in life, Jewel, how will you wield it in a realm of death?”
I watch the vines coil around my fingers, winding up my arms like veins of living light, flowering even as they fade beneath my sleeve.
“Life will always find a way to endure,” I whisper. “Even in the heart of darkness.”
The sun drifts lazily across the sky, its light spilling through the canopy in flickering ribbons that dance across my skin.
Birds sing soft, lilting songs through the trees, and I close my eyes, breathing it all in.
The Grove. My home. Where it all began and where, perhaps, it will all end.
I am grateful that I came back. That I’ve felt the sun on my face one last time, the soil cool between my toes.
Keeper Erania leans on her staff and rises to her feet, her joints creaking like old branches.“Come, Jewel,” she says, her voice warm but heavy. “Let us share food and words before you go. The Tenders wish to bid you farewell.”
I nod and rise, brushing the earth from my palms. Erania gestures me closer, then cups my face in both hands. She kisses my cheek, her thumb lingering on my jaw.
“I will see you again, Amara Tyne,” she murmurs. “And when I do, I will welcome your daughter to the Grove beside you.”
Her words settle in me like sunlight, the reassurance I hadn’t known I was still searching for. She smiles, then turns back toward the village, her staff pressing deep into the soil with each step.
I wait for Mirael to climb down from the rock. She moves slowly, as if every motion weighs something. When she reaches me, her hand disappears into the folds of her robe and returns holding a small wooden rune, threaded with a black leather cord.
“This is yours,” she says, holding it out to me. “The one we made for you when you left.” Her eyes flick to my neck, to where the tattoo once marked me. “But it seems you’ve no need of tokens now.”
“No,” I say softly, taking it from her hand. “This I need.”
I tie it around my neck, letting the familiar weight settle against my collarbone.
Mirael is right, my power no longer depends on carved runes or whispered words.
But this piece of wood carries more than magic.
It carries home. The memory of my sisters.
The strength of the Souls. It is not a charm.
I wear it for comfort, for courage. For the girl I used to be.
Mirael steps forward and pulls me into an embrace, firm, reluctant, but strong and steady as she has always been. The eldest of us. The fiercest. The one who bore the heaviest burdens without complaint. It was she who taught me, guided me, broke me down and built me back stronger.
“You must bring new sisters into the fold,” I murmur against her ear. “Teach them as you taught me.”
She exhales, pulling back with a small, crooked smile. “I suppose you’re right. I did train an Awakened, after all.”
Together, we return to the village. The Grove hums with twilight song, a low, lilting melody that drifts through the trees.
The fire crackles, its smoke curling into the darkening sky, and bowls of roasted grain and sweetroot are passed from hand to hand.
Laughter ripples softly, though there is a heaviness beneath it.
I smile where I can. Speak where I must. The warmth of the fire paints the faces of my people in gold, and for a time, I let myself believe this moment could stretch forever.
But there is one absence that gnaws at me.
I glance toward the shadows beyond the firelight, where the path winds toward the underground den. The others have all returned. Orios and Solena. Zyphoro and Reon. Even Ronin, standing quietly by the treeline, his new mask glinting faintly in the dusk. Yet Daed is nowhere to be seen.
My gaze searches for that familiar silhouette, the way the shadows gather where he stands. But there is nothing. Not even the whisper of his power in the air.
A quiet unease coils in my chest.
“Have you seen Daedalus?” I ask Solena as she passes me a bowl.
She shakes her head. “Not since the council ended.”
The fire blurs before my eyes, its crackle too loud all of a sudden. I set the bowl down and rise, brushing my palms on my robes. “Excuse me,” I murmur, though no one stops me.
The night air meets me cool and damp as I step beyond the firelight, the sound of the feast fading behind me. Then the air changes, thick, acrid, choking. The stench of smoke and ash hits first, then something far worse. Burnt flesh.
I lift a hand to cover my nose and press forward, eyes narrowing against the sting of it.
The trail leads me toward the den. My pulse hammers as I draw closer.
The door hangs open, its hinges groaning softly in the wind.
Then I hear it, the wet, obscene sound of tearing flesh and the snap of bone between teeth.
“Daed,” I whisper.
My feet move on their own, closer, until I reach the threshold. I reach for the handle and recoil when my fingers come away slick with blood. Still warm.
“Daed… what have you done?”
Inside, he kneels in the dark. His head is thrown back, body shuddering as if caught between pain and ecstasy, and there, above the corpse of a Legion soldier, hovers the creature bound to him.
Emranth. Cloaked in smoke and shadow, his form is translucent, a nightmare half-born of the void.
I can see right through him as he feeds, his fanged mouth buried in the flesh, tethered to my husband by a swirling thread of darkness.
Then Daed convulses, and his head jerks toward me. His eyes, wild and unfocused, meet mine. Emranth looks too, his hollow gaze burning before he lets out a piercing hiss that rattles the walls.
The apparition retreats, slipping back into Daed’s chest. As he vanishes, so do the shadows, leaving only the dim shafts of light seeping through cracks in the ceiling.
It’s enough to see the horror laid bare, dozens of Legion bodies scattered across the floor, their blood pooling around my husband’s knees.
Daed staggers upright, breath ragged, sweat running down his temples.
“I thought you weren’t going to execute the prisoners,” I say. My voice trembles, part fear, part fury, but beneath it all, something worse. Understanding.
“I said I’d take care of them,” he rasps. He drags a hand through his hair, slick with sweat and smoke. “And I have.” He swallows hard, his jaw tight. “I am not perfect, Amara.”
I stare at him, at the man I love, the monster he can’t escape.
I whisper. “I know, husband.”
He steps forward, his hands gripping my shoulders.
“Now that Emranth is fed,” he says quietly, “he is stronger and so am I.”
The night wind brushes past us, cool and sharp, carrying the scent of smoke and death away with it.
I lift my chin, meeting his gaze.
“Then now is the time.”