17. Chapter Seventeen
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MORTE
I sit rigidly on Pacey's lap, every muscle in my body tense as I fight to lash out, but can’t. His hands immediately grip my hips, fingers digging in painfully as he pulls me flush against him. The heat of his arousal presses against me, and I have to bite back bile. His breath is hot and foul against my neck as he leans in close.
“That’s it, little phoenix,” he purrs, one hand sliding up to grip my throat. “You’re going to learn to sing for me.”
“Don’t do this,” I beg, tears pouring down my cheeks.
His hands begin to roam over my body, groping and pawing like I'm nothing more than an object for his pleasure.
"Go on," the guard taunts, his voice dripping with mockery. "Your precious Azazel doesn’t seem to care much, does he?" He drags his fingers down my stomach. "Do you think he’ll even come back if I mark you as mine right here?"
I scream and scream and scream, tendons straining and snot running from my nose as my voice tears through the tent like shattered glass. My nails bite into my palms, blood slicking my skin as I fight against the invisible grip holding me captive. The magic only tightens, forcing my body to obey even as my mind thrashes like a cornered animal. My breaths come in shallow, harsh gasps, heaving with panic and rage.
The guard’s cruel laughter snakes around me, his hand lingering far too long against my stomach before trailing lower. My vision blurs with hot tears, but I refuse to allow him to violate me. “You won’t fucking touch me!” I snarl, every word a blade, even as the spell suffocates my defiance. My pulse pounds in my ears as the guard’s breath, hot and vile, brushes against my neck.
He leans in closer, his fingers rough as they trace along my jaw, forcing my head to tilt so that it rests on his shoulder. Like he’s testing just how far I’ll bend before I break. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “All that fire in your eyes, and for what? He doesn’t care.”
He may not, but my other mates do.
Sobs tear from my throat as I beg him to stop. My mates will kill this soldier, snuff the light from his eyes, then spend eternity torturing him. I’ll revel in it.
Deft fingers unbuttoning my pants jars me back to reality as tears slide down my cheeks.
“Told you, he doesn’t care about you. He had one job: get to Aggonid, by any means necessary. And if he got his dick wet along the way?” He chuckles darkly.
Pacey's hand slides lower, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my pants. “Mmm, so wet for me.” His touch is like acid on my skin, burning and violating. His erection digs into me, hard and insistent against my backside.
I struggle against the magic holding me in place, every muscle straining, but it's useless. Tears of rage and humiliation stream down my face as I'm forced to endure his touch.
"Stop," I choke out, my voice breaking. "Please, stop."
The guard chuckles darkly. "Oh, we're just getting started, little phoenix." He inches lower, and I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing through my revulsion as his fingers breach me. “The king is going to give each of us a turn to fuck you, but I’m the one who’ll make you come first. You should be thanking me.” His tongue runs the length of my cheek, and I flinch .
I let out a wail of despair and rage as the guard's fingers violate me. My body shakes with sobs, tears tracking down my face as I struggle against his grip and the magic holding me in place.
"That's it, cry for me," Pacey growls. “Azazel’s pretty little whore. But you’ll be my whore soon enough.”
His fingers leave me, and using magic, he levitates me just above his lap as I hear the belt buckle clink and the rustle of fabric. My heart pounds frantically, terror and revulsion churning in my gut as I realize what's about to happen.
The quick snick of a knife being unsheathed cuts through the air. In an instant, metal bites my skin as Pacey slices my pants off me, the cold stinging my skin as I’m bared to him.
Grabbing my hips, he brings me onto his lap, rubbing himself against me, skin to skin.
My screams pierce the night, raw and desperate as I struggle against the magic keeping me pliant.
Panic claws at my throat as I feel the guard positioning himself. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the violation.
Something deep within pulls taut, fragile hope disintegrating into nothingness. I dig my nails into my palms until I taste iron on my tongue, trying to hold myself together long enough to decide whether to scream or let the darkness swallow me whole.
And that’s when I snap.
With a fierce shriek, I break free of the compulsion spell, the invisible grip shattering as if the magic itself falters. My head snaps forward and then back in one swift motion, the back of my skull colliding with Pacey’s nose in a sickening crunch. He howls in pain, shoving me off his lap as he clutches his face. I stumble, nearly losing my balance, but plant my feet firmly beneath me, spinning to face him, my breaths heaving with adrenaline.
For a fleeting moment, I’m stunned. The spell—it shouldn’t have broken. My magic is locked, stripped from me. Yet, the resistance, the pressure forcing me to comply, simply vanished. Could it be the unstable nature of magic in this cursed place? Or is it something deeper—something clawing its way to the surface from within me, untamed and furious? I don’t have time to ponder the answer, not with Pacey lunging forward again, his bloodied face twisted in rage.
"You fucking bitch, I’ll gut you?—”
Pacey’s roar barely fades when the ground lurches beneath us, like the entire mountain split wide open. A deafening boom swallows the air in the tent, and a shockwave hits, tossing me backward. My ears ring, a high-pitched whine that drowns out everything else. The fabric walls ripple violently, the force of the blast sending every item in the tent flying into disarray.
The tremors don’t stop. The earth groans beneath my feet, each shudder more violent than the last, like some ancient beast clawing its way free from the mountain’s depths. My pulse races, and my mind spins. Is this the storm raging beyond the tent walls—or something far worse? The magic in this place has felt unstable, twisted. Could this be another symptom of the cursed Peaks, or something deliberately unleashed?
Before I can even process what’s happening, the ground begins to tremble, each vibration nearly upending me, like the mountain itself has woken in rage. The world narrows to the sound of a roar—one I can feel more than hear—a rumble that starts low but climbs, growing louder, more aggressive. Then comes the thundering growl of an avalanche, the unmistakable scream of snow and rock tearing its way down the slope.
I stagger, barely catching myself on the edge of a splintered table, the chaos around me reduced to a dull roar as the avalanche bears down. My breath hitches, the cold biting through me, and then—I see him.
Azazel.
He bursts back into the tent like a force of nature, his earlier rage stripped away, revealing something raw and shattered in his eyes. His gaze sweeps over the scene, narrowing on my half-naked, disheveled state, on my pants pooling at my ankles. A muscle twitches in his jaw, and for one heartbeat, he looks like a man on the edge of ruin.
Utter despair.
He lunges, crossing the space between us in a heartbeat, his arms locking around my waist like he’s afraid I’ll slip through his grasp. His hold is desperate, fingers digging into my skin as if he’s trying to tether us both to reality, to something solid against the tide that’s ripping everything apart.
“Hold on!” His shout rips through the chaos, each syllable like a lifeline thrown into the storm. He hoists me off the ground, his grip a promise carved into the flesh of my side. His magic flares, igniting around us like a bonfire, the force of it reverberating outward in a blistering wave. The power warps the very air, bending it to his will, shaping it into a shield that deflects the world’s wrath as it crashes down on us.
His shadows follow, wrapping themselves around my bare skin like ink bleeding into water, coiling tighter with every beat of his heart. They cling to me, their touch intimate, like they’re trying to erase the guard’s filthy hands from my body, to scrub away every violation. There’s no tenderness in their embrace, only a fierce protectiveness that burns hotter than his magic, a promise of vengeance wrapped in darkness.
His lips part, but he swallows whatever words he might’ve said, his eyes shuttering like he’s torn between slaughtering the world and holding me tighter.
And then the world shifts. The avalanche roars louder, a wall of snow and ice crashing against the shield Az has thrown around us. His shadows twist and curl tighter, thickening like a second skin, like they’re trying to block out not just the cold but the memory of what just happened. The storm rages, shaking the earth beneath us, but all I can do is cling to him, my fingers digging into his shoulders, my breath coming in pants against his neck.
The ground may tremble beneath us, but inside, everything that shattered begins to grind back into place, jagged and raw. I want to scream until my lungs give out, to howl at the injustice of what’s just been done to me—at the cruelty of my mate walking away while it happened.
He walked away when I needed him most. When I trusted him to save me, he turned his back. Even now, in his arms, the touch that once brought me solace feels like a lie, a cruel reminder of the Az I thought I knew. My skin recoils from his hold, my pulse pounding with the urge to rip free, but I’m trapped, betrayed by the very hands I once believed would never let me fall.
Az holds me like I’m the only thing keeping him grounded, like if he lets go, we’ll both be swallowed whole. His magic blazes brighter, a furious defiance against the onslaught, but his eyes tell another story. They’re shattered, pleading, and I can almost hear the silent scream locked behind them, a scream he doesn’t dare give voice to.
Because what can he say, other than, ‘ Trust no one, least of all me?’
I hear you now, Az.
I hear you now, because my skin against yours no longer feels like home.
I hear you now, because I hate myself for still wanting to sink into your arms and have you kiss away my tears.
Where Pacey went, I don’t know, but I hope he’s dead. Perhaps buried under the snow that forced its way through the tent.
And if he is, I hope Aggonid’s minions are giving him extra attention in the underworld.
The tent flaps whip violently, straining at the stakes as if the very earth wants to tear us apart piece by piece.
Outside, the avalanche hits our camp. The whole mountain groans, a roar like thunder rolling through the peaks. The impact shudders through Az’s shield, snow and ice slamming against the barrier with crushing force, threatening to bury us alive. His jaw tightens, his arms a vice around me as he keeps the magic steady, muscles straining like he’s holding up the sky itself.
King Valtorious’s voice booms through the commotion, louder than the mountain’s roar. “Azazel! Get up here!” He doesn’t wait for acknowledgment, just barks out the command like the entire world bends to his will.
Az’s eyes narrow, and his lips tighten to a thin line as he meets my stare for the briefest heartbeat. Then he hoists me higher in his arms as he barrels toward the edge of the collapsing tent. His shield bends and warps, absorbing the shock of the avalanche as we tear through the torn fabric.
The devastation outside the tent steals my breath as soon as we breach the opening. Tents lie crushed and torn as servants and soldiers struggle through the thick snow, desperately clawing their way to safety. The air seethes with panic and half-shouted orders, and fae lights sputter above, trying in vain to pierce the dark.
The temperature inside the protective sphere we’re in spikes, steam hissing off the snow as his power devours the cold.
Most of camp has magic to get them out, but not the servants. They have theirs bound like I do. “We’ve got to help them!” I claw at Az’s back to be let down to help one half buried, but he tightens his grip, refusing to let me go as I struggle.
“We can’t.”
He hauls me up higher into his arms again, his hold on me tight, but for a split second, our eyes meet, and I swear I see the smallest flash of something real—something that looks like the Az I once knew.
I could weep.
But then, like the sky swallowing a dying star, it’s gone. His expression locks back into that mask of indifference, or worse, contempt, and he turns hard, carrying me toward his father’s looming figure.
Why couldn’t the snow have buried him instead? Or Roth, whoever the fuck he is.
Roth, with his unnaturally pristine appearance and those cold, calculating eyes, lingers too close to King Valtorious. His long, wiry frame suggests he’s not made for battle but something more insidious. He’s the kind of fae whose presence seems out of place among warriors yet somehow more dangerous for it. The way Az’s expression tightens on him for a split second—a hint of something close to hatred—tells me all I need to know. If Az despises him, then so do I.
The king’s scrutiny surveys the devastation of the camp before landing on me, caught in Az’s grasp. He takes in the tight band of shadows concealing my lower half but doesn’t comment on it .
My nails dig into my palms, itching to claw his face off. He’d ordered Pacey to do this to me. He’ll pay for this. Every beat of my heart pounds with the need for vengeance.
His eyes narrow, a calculating look crossing his face. "Has he come for you? Did Aggonid set off the bomb?" He spits the name like it’s venom, the sneer on his lips twisting into something more vicious. "Is he here? Did that pathetic devil dare to reach beyond his pit?"
My pulse quickens as hope rises, wild and insistent, my eyes darting toward the horizon. I search for any sign of my mates, any hint that Aggonid, Caius, Emeric, or Wilder are out there—here to save me. But the only thing I see is Az, his expression devoid of warmth, his focus fixed on his father.
I see none of my mates. I don’t feel them, either.
"If Aggonid’s behind this," Roth murmurs, turning toward the king, "then he’s bolder than we thought. He’s not here to chat—he’s come for the girl." Roth’s expression tightens, suspicion darkening his features as he steps closer to the tyrant and motions toward me.
Never mind, I’m thousands of years old.
King Valtorious sneers, the anger in his eyes hardening into something worse. He looks at me like I’m a commodity, something stolen from his treasury. "He thinks he can take her from us? How amusing." His attention shifts to his son, who remains unnervingly silent. "Azazel, I’ve wasted enough of my time watching you flounder around with this ... distraction. We’ll do it at midnight tomorrow."
Do what at midnight tomorrow?
“Fine by me,” Az grumbles, spinning us so we face his father, but he keeps me tucked under his enormous arms.
I used to love it here. The warmth of his golden skin against mine as he holds me, mingled with the scent of warmed spice.
The king fully turns to the prince with a condescending smile, eyes glittering with cruel delight. "Take her to the bunker. I don’t want them coming for her until I’m ready for them.” His attention shifts to where I’m clinging to Az’s neck. “I’d hate for your precious Aggonid to think he has any claim on what belongs to me now. What I’ve earned. "
“What you’ve earned?” I can’t hold my tongue even if it’ll get me into trouble. “The only thing you’ve earned is a legacy of shame. They’ll write history books about your failed reign.” I let out a crazed laugh, half hysterical. “Do you know what they say about you across the realms?” I smirk. “A tyrant king whose entire purpose is a quest for power, even at the detriment to his throne, his kingdom, and his family. No one fears you, they pity you. And you will never have me.” I hawk spit at him, landing a little off my mark as I’m being jostled around in Az’s arms. Instead, my spit lands on his father’s shoulder.
Ollin’s eyes narrow into slits as he studies me, his sneer curling into something uglier, something triumphant. “Such fire from such a broken toy,” he hisses. “You think anyone really fears Aggonid? He’s a nuisance, nothing more—a pathetic demon playing at being a god. I’m going to enjoy killing him for good.”
“He is a god, and I’ll be sure to fuck my soul bonded mate on your ashes once I’ve killed you,” I ridicule.
The sneer on Valtorious's lips morphs into a snarl, and he takes a step toward me, raising his hand as if to strike. My pulse races, but I refuse to flinch, refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear in my eyes.
I’ve taken worse.
Az's grip tightens on my waist as I’m jostled just out of reach.
Valtorious’s smile returns, cold and cruel. “It’s almost pitiful how far you’ve fallen for this creature. Take her to the bunker now, or I’ll find a way to make sure she wishes she’d never crossed me.”
“Fuck you!” I’m only able to lunge a few inches before I’m hauled back by Az.
The king’s lip twitches, then pulls into a twisted grin. His taunting stare drifts lazily to Az. “You’d better put that defiance of hers to good use. Take her to the bunker now. Beat or fuck the fight out of her, I don’t care. But you have a little over twenty-four hours to enjoy that bond of yours before it’s gone.”
Az’s fingers dig into my skin, and without a word, he turns and strides forward, clutching me like a prisoner in his steel grip .
Shapes materialize on the ridge, faint at first, barely visible against the blizzard devouring the mountainside. My breath hitches as I strain to focus, each heartbeat a hammer in me. The howling wind stings my eyes, but I refuse to blink, desperate to confirm what I’m seeing. A sob tears from my throat before I can stop it, my knees buckling beneath me as four figures take shape through the storm.
My mates.
Relief slams into me like a wave, and for a moment, I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but drink in the sight of them. Movement sharpens through the swirling snow, and then—there—Aggonid’s crimson eyes sear through the chaos, his shadows looping and surging around him as if the storm bends to his will. Caius strides beside him, his frame all precise, brutal elegance, his expression murderous. Emeric follows, his presence wild with energy that seems to pulse outward with each step. Behind them, Wilder’s dark hair clings to the snow-laden air, tied back but still whipping against his neck. His movements are calculated, purposeful, a force of nature waiting to unleash its full power.
I draw a shuddering breath, the icy grip of fear loosening as the connection to them anchors me, pulling me back from the brink of despair. They’re here. They came for me.
Forms as familiar to me as my own grow sharper, more defined with every heartbeat, like ghosts solidifying from the snow. Hope ignites, wild and frantic, clawing its way up my throat as my mates hurtle toward us, a force of nature aimed straight at the small ridge we stand atop.
My heart surges, ready to burst from its prison. I open my mouth to scream their names, my arm twitching upward, reaching—almost—but before I can so much as whisper their names, Az’s magic snaps tight around us. My mates blur into nothing, their faces snatched from my vision like sand swept from an outstretched hand. I want to howl for them, to shatter this terrible silence with the sound of their salvation, but the air turns too thick, the shadows too strong. The world blurs, Azazel’s shadows binding just the two of us like a cage. The ridge and my salvation disappear as fast as they appeared .
The world fractures in a blink—torn apart by the force of his power as he sifts us away from them. My mates vanish, swallowed by the distance, and I’m left gasping in a void of darkness.