3. Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
MORTE
W e land in a secluded, moonlit grove, the sudden stillness almost as disorienting as the sifting itself, surrounded by towering, silver trees. It’s far colder here than in the castle, the air damp and filled with the loamy scent of moss, decay, and snow. For the first time in days, I smell no metal.
We might still be in Romarie, but we aren’t near the cities where the concentration of metals is high.
The woods are eerily quiet. No creature stirs. No hum of magic in the air. Not even the creaking of the thin sheet of ice on the trees.
I thought sound traveled better in the cold. Or perhaps that’s only over snow. I can never remember which—we didn’t have snow in Castanea, where I spent most of my life as a scribe underground. It wasn’t until recently that I’d led a legion of phoenix fae.
Az releases me abruptly and steps back. Harsh shadows fill the grooves in his muscles, painting his tattoos in a whole new light. The betrayal stings afresh as I watch him, hating the soul-deep longing twisting inside me.
He was never mine.
That familiar sting is back. The same one that had tortured me for 2,000 years while I pined for Wilder, cursing the gods for not making me his anchor. That grief is back, like an open wound.
The grove, under the silvery wash of moonlight, feels like a world apart. Safe, yet suffocating with its silence.
I don’t know where the fuck we are, but I need to get away. Back to my other mates. Wilder, who commands the ocean like it’s his birthright; the one who taught me what it means to fight for something worth having. It was my love for him that turned me from a terrified scribe into a warrior who'd face the worst kinds of death imaginable for love.
Caius, whose love I never once had to question. It burns fast and hot in its intensity since the moment he begged for my attention, chipping away at my loneliness with his playful chaos and devotion.
And Aggonid, whose shadows both soothe and consume me, the one who makes me believe I am more than the scars etched into my soul.
My sweet, loyal Emeric, who I’m dying to feel inside my soul just as I do the others. His quiet strength and fierce love are as intrinsic to him as the hellfire that dances through his fur when he shifts.
I need to find my way back to them.
My gaze darts around for any possible avenues of escape. Every direction seems blocked by an impenetrable wall of darkness that the trees loom over, their branches clawing at the sky. The grove is a cage in its own right. Thick brambles and undergrowth snake their way around the trunks, weaving a dense natural barrier. Their frost-covered thorns glisten under the nascent moonlight.
But there—right near the base of a tree thirty yards from us seems to be a narrow opening, partially hidden away by the underbrush. My heart is a caged bird, fluttering rapidly as I consider it.
My bare, frozen feet move of their own accord, my body knowing flight is the only option left.
Ollin laughs, and Azazel sighs.
“Run, little pet, run,” his father sing-songs.
Mud squelches between my exposed toes as tree branches whip past me. My breath comes in sharp gasps, the cold air biting at my lungs as I push myself harder, deeper into the tangled wilderness.
Behind me, I hear the soft crunch of frosted leaves underfoot, a ghost of movement whispering through the quiet. Az doesn’t call out; he respects the hunt too much for that, and I’m suddenly, painfully aware of how well he knows my every tendency. How it wasn’t too long ago that he and I were the hunters in woods not so different from these. Only instead of frozen ground, we took to the trees of the underworld to stalk our prey.
The memory ignites a fire of desperation within me, propelling my escape to a breathless pace, the magic suppression cuffs chafing my raw skin as they clash against each motion.
“You’d better haul her back here before she gets too far!” Ollin rings out to his son.
I hear a string of expletives behind me just before I’m tackled to the ground, but the impact is softened as he cushions our fall. Az’s warmth seeps into my skin as he pins me beneath him. “Please stop running, Firefly. He likes to break the ones who fight back.” His breath is hot against my ear, his voice a deep murmur laced with something like regret—or is it longing? The words are so quiet, it’s hard to decipher which.
A thick lock of his black hair escapes its tie, tickling my cheek. For a moment, I let myself be held by him, the heat from his body betraying the coldness of his actions and warming my bones. I don’t stop to think about how just feeling his touch soothes the cavernous, aching well inside me, nor how desperate I am for him to keep holding me, to tell me that everything will be alright.
That he hasn’t snuffed out everything we could’ve been or ever were, as though our past and potential were mere stray embers needing to be stamped out in the grass.
I struggle under his substantial weight, my heart hammering against the thawing earth. “Let me go,” I gasp out, but the tremor in my voice betrays a longing for another outcome—a reality where betrayal hasn’t poisoned what we had .
“I can’t,” Az whispers, the sound cracking with a burden of emotions.
The dull thud of heavy boots halts abruptly right next to our heads, the crunched earth and frosted leaves doing little to muffle the sound. King Valtorious’s presence hurls a long shadow over us, blocking out what scant moonlight filters through the dense canopy of silver trees.
The only sounds are our shallow, ragged breaths, the slight rustle of leaves as Ollin shifts his weight on the frost, and the soft creak of leather from his boots.
“Don’t you dare start rutting her here before I’ve had a chance to do it myself,” the king grumbles.
Az stiffens above me, his breath halting as the metallic tang of fear seeps from my pores. A low, rumbling growl builds in his chest. Then, just as suddenly, the vibration from him stops. As though his limbs are full of lead, he slowly climbs off me, helping me to my feet before clamping his hand around my bicep.
My half-numb toes scrape roughly against his boots as he parks me next to him.
“Aggonid will tear apart all the realms to look for her,” Az warns, inclining his head towards me. “You underestimate him.”
His father chuckles. “Much has changed since you’ve been gone, son. He can’t find her with those suppression cuffs on.” He gestures towards the thick manacles on my wrists.
A deep ache blooms within me, threatening to swallow me whole. The thought hits like a blow, stealing the breath from my lungs. If they can’t find me, how am I supposed to find my way back to them?
“What are you going to do with her?” Azazel sighs, his bored eyes sliding to mine.
They betray nothing.
Ollin props himself against a tree. “As soon as I mate her, I’ll be able to drain all of her mate’s magic.”
Fear, potent and thick, knots in my stomach. Az’s grip on my arm tightens, but his face forsakes none of his emotions. Eyes like dark blue flames lock onto his father .
“And given her fae order,” King Valtorious smirks, a cruel twist of his lips, “her magic is bound to be … exquisite.”
I try to pull away from Az’s grasp, panic clawing at me. His fingers dig into my skin, rooting me to where we stand under the canopy. I want to scream and lash out, but I’m without magic, and Az’s words niggle in my mind. He likes to break the ones who fight back.
But there’s no way I’d let this monster mate me. No way I’d let him do anything to hurt my mates, either.
“I didn’t care for it.” Az shrugs, and I shutter my eyes, his words like poison in my stomach. His fingers tighten on my arm before loosening again. I might’ve missed it if it weren’t for my body being so attuned to his. “And she’s lousy in bed. Just lays there when you’re fucking her. If you’re anything like me, you’d hate it, too.”
His father’s laughter roars through the dense forest, unsettling the quiet as his breath fogs the air. It ricochets through the trees, reminiscent of a tombstone grinding against the earth—ominous, promising nothing but sorrow.
But nothing as soul-deep as my mate’s cruel words that settle on my skin like frost. I feel sickened, betrayed all over again.
He knows how unwanted I felt for millennia before we mated. I gave him my virginity—happily—because I trusted him. And now he spits those words like venom, knowing exactly where to strike.
But is this real? Is he truly this cruel, or is he saying it for his father’s benefit, trying to deflect attention from me? The thought flutters through my mind, fragile and desperate, but even if that’s the case, how could he use my deepest wounds against me like this?
The pain gnaws at the fringes of my mind, threatening to pull me under. But the last thing I want him to know is how his callous comments flay me. He may feel it through our bond, but I refuse to shatter in front of his father. So instead, I train my eyes on the trees, willing myself not to break down.
Apathy is what I want to give him. Don’t react. Don’t feel.
Just be.
My thoughts scramble to my other mates, desperate for purchase on something other than Az. Memories of floating in the sea with Wilder’s arms wrapped securely around me surface, vivid and clear despite the two centuries that have passed. I can almost feel the gentle caress of Caius’s tail against my skin, the cool embrace of Aggonid’s shadows, as grounding as they are consuming.
But then my mind drifts to Emeric—and from there, inevitably, to Az. The two are linked in ways I can’t separate, their bond forged long before I ever entered their lives. I think of the night in the underworld’s tavern when I first met Emeric, his easy flirtation paired with an intense focus as he kept an eye on his best friend, protective even then. And I think of the Forsaken Hunt, when he fought tooth and nail to help me drag Az from death’s grip. Their connection felt like it could withstand anything, but now, Em probably feels as gutted as I do.
My thoughts are interrupted by Ollin’s next words. “Then I’ll put her down after she’s served her purpose. Shame, though. Might put a few babies in her first. She’s got a nice enough rack, and if I’m lucky, I’ll have a full armory of phoenix feathers by the time I’m through with her.”
The disgust in my throat rises like bile. I clench my fists until my nails dig painfully into my palms, the sting a welcome distraction from their vile words. Their casual dehumanization of me, plans spoken with such callous disregard—they fuel a fire within me.
I part my lips to protest, to curse, to say something, now I no longer feel the tightness in my throat from Az’s silencing charm , but before I can utter a word, a group of twelve servants and a small retinue of guards sift into the forest thirty yards from us. They’re wearing blue and black, and the servants have shackles on their ankles and on their wrists. Rage ignites in my veins at the sight of it.
They spot us immediately, shuffling our way. In their hands are large bags and boxes of various sizes, some of which clink and clatter as they approach.
“Not here, you imbeciles. We need a clearing,” the king barks at them.
A guard slaps one aside their head, causing them to cower.
The other servants flinch before they frantically scan the woods around us, eyes wide with terror and desperation. Their movements are quick, fearful; they know the price of displeasure in this cruel realm.
Azazel sighs next to me and calls the guard over to us. He asks the guard to hold me while he faces the trees.
The guard is shorter than Az, and his eyes are a piercing yellow, like a predator lying in wait. His palm is rough where it catches on my sleeve, which is an odd feeling for a fae. Our palms are usually smooth and callous-free. We heal fast and rarely ever scar. At least, in Bedlam we do.
I don’t know what it’s like here. Or wherever we are—I don’t know if we’re even in Romarie anymore.
What his fae order is, I don’t know. There are no obvious signs like you’d have with a fire golem or a demon fae. His aura is muted, almost hidden, which is unusual for a fae of any kind. This could mean he’s been tampered with by magic to conceal his true nature. Who knows what kind of experimentation or magical torture he may have undergone?
Cropped red hair frames a harsh, angular face, more animal than fae in its contours. And not the least bit attractive. I struggle against his grip, but his strength far surpasses mine, enhanced or not.
The guard tugs me against his body, banding an arm around my waist. I struggle against him, trying to catch an elbow in his ribs.
Azazel’s hands move with a fluid, practiced grace, and the air around him vibrates with his power as shadows spill at his feet, scattering through the trees. They groan as they bend and twist, their trunks splintering under the force of his magic. A clearing forms within seconds, the ground now bare and exposed. The destruction is so swift, it's almost beautiful in its ruthlessness.
I let out a quiet whimper when the guard’s canine drags across the tendon on my neck when he shifts me, causing Az’s head to whip my way. His eyes bulge, dark shadows spilling from his frame as he stalks our way like a nightmare let loose. Hand outstretched, he uses the shadows to lasso a thick noose around the guard’s neck .
“And just what would you have done had you made my mate bleed ?” Azazel growls.
A knot loosens inside me. He called me his mate. Does this mean …?
That train of thought dies with the next string of words that grits from his mouth, shattering it like a stoneware plate chucked at a wall. “Your king has plans for her, and they don’t involve a guard with a thimbleful of magic marring her skin.”
Immediately, I’m relieved of the pressure as the guard’s hands raise. He stumbles back, gasping for air, his eyes untamed. Azazel’s shadows tighten with every jerky movement the guard makes, the dark tendrils pulsing with a life of their own.
The darkness squeezes, coiling tighter and tighter and blotting out the meagre moonlight reflecting in the guard’s eyes. His face turns a lurid shade of purple, his limbs flailing in a desperate, failing struggle for air.
Az is only feet from us now. I cling to a tree, fingers digging into the silver bark, eyes wide as I witness the power he wields with so little effort on his part. I should feel bad, but I don’t. I’d have maimed the guard myself if I had access to my magic.
The amount of power he can harness rivals Aggonid’s. How, I don’t know, as he’s not a god.
Only when the guard slumps, his fight given up, does Az release him. I stare at the body at the base of a tree until movement in my periphery stirs me into snapping out of it.
The servants, their faces gaunt and etched with fatigue, hurry into the newly formed glade, setting down their burdens with audible relief. Tents pop up like strange mushrooms after a rain, sprouting from the newly bare earth, while cooking fires are kindled with a snap of fingers from one of the guards. As though my mate hadn’t just killed someone, and nothing is amiss.
Az gestures to another guard to remove the body before taking my arm and leading me toward a lone tent perched atop a small hill, set apart from the others. Its elevated position and the space around it make it impossible to mistake for one of the clustered, utilitarian shelters below. As he drags me inside, I’m immediately struck by its warmth and the deliberate care taken in its spacious setup. Standing tall, there’s at least four more inches of space above my mate’s head, and easily three times his height in width. Two small sleeping bags sit on opposite sides of the space, each seeming to promise a rest I'm desperate for but unlikely to get. Above, tiny orbs of fae lights dance and twinkle, spilling small pools of light in every corner. The air is pleasantly scented, something earthy I can’t place.
If this were a month ago, it’d be romantic.
I tug out of Azazel’s hold, but he doesn’t stop me.
In my attempt to escape through the unguarded door, I discover an invisible barrier, and collide with it, my face taking the brunt of the impact.
Staggering back, I clutch my throbbing nose, tears welling up from the sudden pain. Azazel's eyes soften for a moment as he steps forward, reaching out as if to comfort me, but I recoil from his touch.
"Why?" I spit the word out with all the venom I can muster. “Just let me go!”
He makes to open his mouth, but he snaps it shut as his eyes track over my shoulder.
“That would be unwise.”