31. Chapter Thirty-One
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
MORTE
I drift above the river of souls, wings spread wide, the current below me dark, flowing like ink under the blood-red sky. It’s not normally this color.
Perhaps it senses my soul-deep loss. Queen of the Damned, drowning in a grief so consuming it threatens to pull me into the very river I hover above, its currents whispering the names of the two halves of my soul now lost to me. My heart is a battlefield of ash and ruin, with a kingdom of ghosts and a soul forever marked by the echoes of their love.
My other mates aren’t far behind me.
Each beat of my wings stirs the ash and embers that drift in the air, the ash sticking to my damp skin, coating my throat, burning with every breath. But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Not the heat, not the ash, not even the charred, cracked landscape stretching out beneath me.
All that matters is Wilder.
My eyes scour the surface of the river, every trace of movement below making my heart jump, a frantic, aching pulse in my chest. Souls drift by—shapeless, lost things, whispering in an endless chorus, their cries carried up by the light breeze. A haunting melody, filled with longing, grief, hopelessness.
Wilder should be here.
This is where the souls first go before they’re reunited with their bodies far below the castle for processing.
Reapers ferry souls across the river, their black cloaks billowing, oars dipping silently into the inky depths. I scan each boat, each cluster of souls, desperate for a glimpse of him. For any sign.
But there’s nothing.
My eyes burn, tears spilling over, and I grit my teeth, refusing to let them fall. I can’t lose him—not after losing Azazel, not after everything. The thought of Az twists the knife deeper, a fresh wave of sorrow crashing into me, pulling a sob from the deepest well inside me. I picture his face, the empty, hollow look in his eyes the moment he severed our bond, his body collapsing, lifeless, crumpled. Gone. No soul, no second chance. Just gone.
I hover here, suspended over the river, my wings trembling, my breath rough. I’m not ready to accept it. Azazel—my mate, my blood fae, my beautiful, broken love—he’s really gone. No magic can bring him back. Not even the gods can change that.
But Wilder …
Panic constricts my chest. Did he go beyond the veil? A sob wrenches itself free from my throat, raw, as I claw at the emptiness around me, desperate to feel even the faintest pull of his essence. But there’s nothing—no warmth, no trace of the bond we shared. Just a void that stretches endlessly, threatening to devour me.
A glimmer catches my eye, a shadow moving along the edge of the river, and my heart leaps into my throat. The Gravewoken.
I recognize the skeletal masks they wear. They’re the only reapers I’ve seen who do.
My pulse pounds, my wings folding as I drop to the bank, feet striking the cracked, dry earth. The impact jolts through me, my knees buckling, but I don’t stop. I push forward, ash crunching beneath my bare feet, my eyes locked on the shadowy figures emerging from the gloom .
Cloaked in darkness, their bodies shift like smoke, and their empty eyes glow with an eerie, cold light. And there, among them, Wilder—his form solidifying, distinct against the barren backdrop. His face appears first, his features beautiful, familiar, though etched in pain. My heart clenches as a gasp tears from my lips.
“Wilder!” The name bursts from me, hoarse, desperate. I stumble forward, knees scraping against the stone as I drop beside him, my fingers trembling as they find his face. His skin—burning, too hot, as if the flames of the Underworld have consumed him, his body straining against the invisible bonds that hold him in agony.
The fire wraps around him, orange tongues licking up his arms, along his torso, burning, ruthless. I press my hands to his skin, trying to pull the flames away, to shield him, to take the heat into myself if that’s what it takes.
I don’t remember this part of dying. Wilder is too agonized to even speak.
“Caius!” I scream, my voice raw, the sound ringing across the barren wasteland. Panic mauls my insides, my heart thundering, each beat a drum of fear. I glance around, my stare wild, until I see him—Caius—pushing through the ash and smoke, his eyes widening as they fall on Wilder.
He doesn’t hesitate. He drops beside me, tail curling around my waist, his fingers finding Wilder’s wrists. His gaze meets mine for the briefest moment, something soft, reassuring in his eyes before he looks down at my anchor. His nails dig into my merfae’s flesh, carving runes—symbols of magic, protection—into his skin, each movement precise, methodical.
A shudder rips through my anchor, his eyes flying open, his back arching as Caius’s magic flows into him, a pale glow spreading through the runes, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. The fire recedes, the heat ebbing away, until all that remains are glowing embers, scattered across the ground.
I sag, my breath rushing out of me in a sob, my hands trembling as I cup his face. His eyes meet mine, the pain still there, still raw, but beneath it—a smile. A tiny, fragile curve of his lips .
“I told you I’d see you soon, Little Bird,” he rasps.
Tears spill over, falling freely now as I pull him into my arms, my fingers threading through his long hair, holding him tight, refusing to let go. “You fucking asshole,” I choke out, my words splintering. “I thought I’d lost you forever, too.” Whatever he’s done since being in prison, he’s earned his stay in the Underworld. I worried he might’ve gone beyond the veil.
Guilt eats at me. He deserves a better afterlife than this, but I’m selfish, and so, so glad he’s here.
He laughs, the sound weak, barely more than a breath. “I’d do it again … a trillion times in a trillion lives … if it meant keeping you safe.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my forehead to his, my tears dripping onto his skin. “Don’t leave me again. Promise me.” A fragile kind of joy sings in my chest that he’s here, that nothing separates us. It was millennia in the making, but he’s mine, and I am his.
“I … promise.” His voice breaks, his arms wrapping around me, pulling me closer, his breath heated against my neck.
Caius rises beside us, his expression gentle as he looks down at Wilder, at me. His tail coils around my leg, a silent comfort, his fingers brushing against my cheek, wiping away the tears. “We need to move,” he says, his voice soft, his eyes meeting mine. “Let’s bring him home.”
I swallow hard, my fingers shaking as I help Wilder to his feet. His weight leans into me, his body still trembling, his breath coming in short gasps. But he’s here. He’s alive. Ish.
The reapers watch us, their forms shifting, dark and menacing, their empty eyes following our every movement. Rook—their leader—steps forward, his eyes narrowing, the shadows that cling to him swirling, alive, sentient. His attention snags onto me, something like understanding rippling across his face.
“Glad to have you back,” he intones, his words echoing, hollow. Back? The faintest curve of a smirk peeks from beneath his hood. He turns, his cloak billowing around him, his movements fluid, otherworldly.
I glance behind me, my eyes drifting to the river, to the souls that float within its depths—souls waiting for their bodies, forgotten, nameless, while stuck in limbo.
The thought of never seeing Azazel again sends a fresh wave of grief over me, nearly taking me to my knees. I push it down, bury it deep.
I have to keep going. For Wilder. Aggonid. Caius. Emeric. And for Azazel’s memory. For all of us.
Caius nudges me, his eyes softening, his tail brushing against my cheek. “Come,” he whispers. “I want to show Wilder where he’ll sleep.”
Wilder raises a brow. “If you think I’m sleeping anywhere other than in her bed?—”
“You’re all sleeping with me,” I interrupt.
I glance up at where Aggonid hovers just above us, his eyes scanning the river, as though searching for something. His fingers toy with the necklace at his throat, lost deep in thought.
“What do you suppose we should have him do to earn his magic back?” Caius leans over, snaking an arm around Wilder’s shoulders.
I yank Caius back, stopping him in his tracks. “He doesn’t have to earn that.”
A sly smile builds upon his face. “I was thinking something along the lines of having to spend all night worshipping you with his tongue.”
I give him a playful shove. “Cai?—”
“—Deal.”
I whip my head to my merfae, who has a huge grin on his face. He shrugs. “That was the plan, anyway.”
I roll my eyes, but my smirk betrays me. “Aggie.” I look back to where his beating wings stir up ash. “Could you please give my mate his magic?”
Aggonid lands with the precision of a predator, his wings folding tightly against his back, though the ash stirred by his arrival still clings to the air. His crimson eyes lock on Wilder, and he blinks slowly, as though studying him. Every intricate piece of his magic.
He steps forward, his boots crunching softly against the ground. "Very well," he rumbles, extending his hand toward Wilder. Black flames ignite along his palm, twisting and coiling like living shadows. The raw power of it pulses, suffusing the land with a charged stillness.
Wilder watches, his grin faltering for a split second, replaced by a hint of awe—or perhaps hesitation. He stands straighter, rolling his shoulders back in anticipation.
“This isn’t a gift, merfae,” Aggonid warns. “It’s a part of you that you gave up when you died. Take it back. All of it.”
The flames leap forward, striking Wilder’s sternum like lightning. His body jerks as the cerulean magic pours into him, spreading outward in serpentine streaks that crawl across his skin before fading beneath the surface. He inhales sharply, his head snapping back, tiny gills along his neck flaring to life as if remembering their purpose before sinking back into his flesh.
Wilder drops to one knee, gripping his chest, his breaths clipped as the raw force of his reclaimed magic settles. Slowly, he looks up, his grin returning, but this time it’s fiercer, his eyes glowing with a renewed power. “Tingly,” he quips, shaking his fingers before rising to his feet.
Aggonid steps back. "I look forward to seeing what it can do," he says before turning on his heel, his wings opening with a snap that scatters the ash once more.
My wings unfurl, wrapping around Wilder and myself, shielding him from the ash and smoke as we move, following Rook and the other Gravewoken as they usher us away from here. I can feel the river’s chill at my back, the whispers growing louder, the souls’ cries rising, but I force myself to focus—to put one foot in front of the other.
They lead us away from the river, their shadows melding with the darkness, their forms shifting, disappearing into the black, taking us to our castle far from here where it’s safe. Somewhere we can begin to heal—to find some way to piece together everything that’s been shattered.