24. Chapter Twenty-Four
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
AZAZEL
T he slam of a cabinet door splinters the silence, yanking me from sleep with a shock that ricochet’s through me. Instinct takes over, and my shadows surge outward, a barrier against whoever dares to intrude. My arms pull Morte close, her warmth pressed against my chest, my mind grappling between wanting to shield her and needing to end the threat.
My father strides across the bunker, his presence a dagger plunged into our fragile sanctuary, a mug of tea in hand. How long has he been here? Why didn’t I wake the moment he sifted in? His eyes flick to the bed, narrowing at the sight of our bare skin entangled beneath the blankets. Rage simmers beneath my ribs, bubbling, rising, as I sense the disgust he wears like a cloak.
No use with pretense now.
My shadows act without hesitation, enveloping Morte, hiding every inch of her from my father's greedy stare. They cling to her curves, shifting to shield her dignity, my only focus on ensuring that she remains unseen. Her body shivers against mine, tension winding through her muscles, and I know she’s awake, understanding immediately what’s happening.
I lean down, my lips brushing her forehead as I whisper, “Stay still, Firefly. I’ll handle this.” My voice barely reaches her ears, the raw edge of sleep and panic fraying the words. Morte doesn’t respond, but her fingers curl into my arm, a silent plea or maybe a show of defiance—both of which anchor me.
“Get up, boy,” he barks. “You and the girl. Now.”
Grinding my teeth, I keep my shadows tight around Morte while I scramble off the bed. The chill of the floor stings my feet, but I ignore it, focusing on finding her clothes. My hands move quickly, each second he stands there, another nail driven into my chest. I throw a shirt over my shoulder, then locate her sweatpants near the foot of the bed.
“Turn around,” I snap at King Valtorious, my glare searing into him as I yank on my own clothes. After spending all night in my mate’s arms, our bond is reaffirmed, making me even more possessive.
He raises an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. He doesn't move an inch. “Gone soft on me already? She’s just another tool, son. Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”
Rage coils through me. “Turn. Around.” The words grind from me, each one a warning.
For a heartbeat, it feels like he might refuse, that he might push me just to see how far I’ll break. But then, with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he turns, his back facing us, and I don’t waste a moment.
“Morte,” I murmur, kneeling beside the bed, “I need you to get dressed. Quickly.” My shadows shift slightly, revealing her face, her eyes glassy with sleep and confusion. She blinks up at me, her lips parting, a question forming that never makes it out.
I help her slip into the clothes, my fingers brushing her skin, and the ache inside me deepens at the sight of the marks left on her wrists from the cuffs. Marks he put there. Marks I’ll never forgive myself for.
Using healing magic, I take care of them, at least temporarily until they chafe again.
I watch as she tucks the blade into her sleeve. It’s now or never.
When she’s dressed, I take her hand and lift her gently from the bed, keeping her behind me as I face my father. Valtorious turns back, a satisfied grin twisting his lips as he takes us both in. His gaze drifts to Morte, lingering just a moment too long, and I feel her shrink behind me, the confidence she’d worn so boldly before slipping under his oppressive presence. Her fingers tighten in mine, the smallest motion, but enough to tell me what I need to know. The woman who faced him with fire in her veins yesterday is still here—but she’s quieter now. Not broken. Never broken. Just more aware of what we’re up against. And gods, I hate him for that.
“What do you want?” I demand, my voice dropping lower, shadows aching to lash out.
“It’s time,” he replies, eyes locking on mine, his grin spreading wider. “We’re leaving. The ritual begins now.”
My stomach turns to lead, the weight of his words settling in. I glance at Morte, her eyes meeting mine, the hint of fear barely masked beneath her hardened stare.
I have to trust in the plan we’ve put together. That once we get rid of Roth, we’ll find a way to buy us more time.