33. Chapter Thirty-Three
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
MORTE
E meric’s presence is the only thing that keeps me from splintering. I wear one of Azazel’s shirts, the material drowning with his scent, and Em stands beside me, watching as I trace my fingertips along the cold edge of his casket. His body language is guarded, like he doesn’t quite know how to be here with me—how to console someone who feels like their soul was just ripped apart, piece by piece.
I lean over the casket, brushing my fingers against Azazel’s cold cheek. His features are slack, eyes closed, looking like he’s merely asleep, not some lifeless shell. I hate seeing him like this. Hate the emptiness in his face, the way the shadows don’t dance at the corners of his lips like they used to. I can almost hear him, his smirk, the words he would whisper to get a rise out of me.
I close my eyes, swallowing hard, whispering under my breath. “For you, Az. Everything they did to you—I will do it back, tenfold. They will suffer. Every minute, every second of eternity, for what they stole from you.”
I want to rage and scream and wail at the fates for taking him from me. For giving him this fucking pitiful life where he spent most of it being tortured when all he wanted was to be loved . He didn’t deserve this fate. This miserable existence and then to be snuffed out as though he didn’t matter.
But he did matter. Does matter.
Emeric shifts beside me, his hand brushing against my shoulder. “Morte …” The sadness in his words matches my own, something raw and exposed.
He tries to be strong, to hold himself together, but there’s no hiding the sorrow that stains his eyes.
Last night, we’d spent the night in Azazel’s bed, surrounded by his things, clinging to each other in our grief. Emeric knew him for millennia, while I’d had such little time with him. My despair seems almost selfish, fleeting, like a candle sputtering in the shadow of Emeric's endless night. I ache, but beside his grief—rooted so deep, so ancient—I feel unworthy to mourn this way. I want to crumble, to drown in it, but beside Em, I know I should rein it in, as though my grief would somehow take up too much of the air between us.
“They’re here,” Emeric whispers, his fingers curling gently around my elbow, urging me away from Azazel.
My body refuses to move. My soul wants to stay, as if I could keep watch over him, guard him even now when there is nothing left to protect. I stare down at the metal, tracing each symbol we’d carved with care, each one a tribute to a journey we never got to complete.
I take a shuddering breath, finally letting go of the casket to dry my tears. My fingers brush along the edge of Az’s cist, a quiet goodbye, and I step away. “Alright,” I murmur, nodding towards Emeric. “Let’s go.”
Emeric holds the door open, his hand resting on the frame, waiting as I step out of the house. We walk through the desolate forest, the sky above a dark red blanket that stretches endlessly above the canopy. The air bites, as though the world itself knows what we’ve lost. Caius and Aggonid fly above, giving us room to simply be in our shared mourning while they keep watch overhead. They’re giving us space, and I hate how grateful I am for it. I don’t have words for them right now. I don’t have words for anything.
There aren’t many in the forest during the day, but it’s still the Underworld. The denizens of hell aren’t above making moves to take advantage of our grief-stricken state.
And then I see it.
Nestled between the skeletal trees, battered and rusted, the shack emerges like a ghost from another life. My steps falter. The ramshackle building leans to one side, the corrugated metal Az had added all worn where it catches the pale light. A patch of wild berries clings stubbornly to the edge of the clearing, these vibrant, horrible things that brought Az and I together.
I remember the taste—bitter, pungent. I remember eating them with trembling hands that first night, my stomach aching, my mind clouded by fear and exhaustion. I remember Az appearing from the shadows, saving me. Later, he reinforced the shack, wrapping it in metal to keep the horrors at bay.
Now, it’s just a hollow shell. A monument to what was.
I swallow hard, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. Emeric stops beside me, his eyes taking in the shack, his usual teasing smirk nowhere to be found. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t need to. The enormity of what we've lost doesn't need to be put into words to be felt.
I force myself to move, my legs wobbly as I take one step, then another. The shack disappears behind us, but the memory stays. It always will.
It takes hours to pick our way through the woods, climbing over twisted roots and ducking under low-hanging branches.
The forest feels different now, emptier somehow, as if it knows one of its own is gone. The usual chittering and rustling of creatures have been muted, replaced by an eerie stillness.
The castle takes shape in the distance, a dark silhouette against the red horizon, and a sense of dread grows with each step closer.
This is my home now. One of them, at least. I prefer the smaller manor, where it’s quiet, and I’m not tripping over servants and guards around every corner. But this isn’t why I’m anxious.
I’m coming face to face with them .
The ones who sought to take everything from me. Who hurt the people I love.
The guards stand tall, their faces stoic. They wear dark armor, each piece gleaming under the scarlet sky. As we approach, they part like a sea, and the movement is synchronized, as if they’re part of a single mechanism. Their bows are graceful, their eyes focused on the ground, avoiding our stares. But they know. They see it in my expression, in the way Emeric walks beside me like a shield, his stare hard, shoulders tense. They see the storm brewing, the reckoning that awaits.
Especially when Caius and Aggonid land behind us, their wings hurling long shadows across the courtyard as they shake them out. The guards stiffen, as if remembering the judgment reigned upon them when they’d first arrived.
Wilder greets us at the gate, relief plastered on his face. He pulls me into a long hug, and gods, does it feel good to be with him again. He’s showered, his dark hair tucked behind his pointy ears, and he looks more like himself than he has in a long time.
“Get your magic working?” Aggonid asks him.
Wilder pulls back, smirking. “Come see for yourself.”
We pass through the giant doorway into a space lit only by fae lights. The foyer looks just as I remember it: high ceilings and panels carved from bone. Stained glass windows paint colorful patterns of light across the dark floors. A sweeping staircase punctuates the center of the foyer, leading up to the second floor.
Aggonid leads us through corridors, his stride purposeful. We pass several guards and servants, who all step out of our way as we move deeper into the castle. The shadows grow longer as the light becomes scanter the deeper we descend.
The dungeon.
Torchlight flutters along the stone walls, and at the far end are the three cells—one for Roth and another for King Valtorious. Though, I’m not sure who occupies the third.
Wilder turns to face me, pulling me up short. “Wait.” He glances at the third cell. “I don’t know who he is, but I caught your scent all over him. He’s a Romarie guard.” He swallows, and my brow furrows.
“A Romarie guard—” My breath catches as realization dawns. The guard. The one who …
Memories flood back—rough hands gripping me, cruel laughter, pain, betrayal, violation. My stomach churns and I stumble back, suddenly feeling light-headed.
“Morte?” Each of my mates still, their attention snapping to the third cell.
“Who the fuck is in there?” Aggonid breathes, his shadows spilling at our feet and rushing to the cell. A startled grunt echoes from within as the shadows envelop the prisoner.
Panic rips through me, each shallow breath catching as memories assault me. Wilder pulls me into his arms, cupping the back of my head as he sways with me.
He used to do this for me before he went to prison. Back when we’d sneak in and out of Castanea together and I was terrified of getting caught. Because of what it’d mean for my people—the Tolden—if we did. Wilder takes exaggerated breaths, his chest rising under my cheek. His steady heartbeat grounds me as I focus on matching my breathing to his. The panic slowly ebbs, replaced by a cold fury that settles deep in my bones.
I pull away from him, squaring my shoulders as I turn to face the cells.
“He’s the soldier who tried to rape me before I broke his fucking nose.”
A pained cry sounds from the cell, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the stone floor. Aggonid’s shadows writhe and twist, seeping through the bars like living darkness.
“What did you say?” Caius growls, his tail lashing behind him as he stalks towards the room.
“Don’t you dare kill him before I have a chance to get my hands on him,” Wilder snarls.
A roar rattles the castle as Aggonid charges towards the cell doors and rips the bars apart. The metal screeches, folding like softened wax in his grip. He hurls it aside, and the deafening clang reverberates throughout the dungeon.
I follow him into the cramped space, my heart thundering as I take in the sight before me. The guard is huddled in the corner, his face etched in horror as Aggonid’s shadows pin him to the wall. His eyes dart between us, wide with panic, his breath coming in sharp as they land on me.
“I wasn’t going to?—”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snarl, summoning a small ball of fire in my palm. I pull air into my lungs, raising the flame to my lips, and blow. My exhale sends a stream of fire towards him. Aggonid’s shadows part just enough to allow my flames to lick at his skin, eliciting agonized screams.
The scent of burning flesh fills the air as his clothes catch fire, melting his skin.
“Pl-please!” He sobs.
“Did he touch you?” Caius studies the Romarian in front of us.
“Yes.” I cross my arms in front of me to settle the tremble in my fingers. “He sexually assaulted me, and was seconds away from raping me.”
Water spills from the fae’s lips, his face turning red as he sputters. Wilder propels himself off the wall, and his eyes flash with rage as he steps towards the fae.
“Do you know what they do to merfae who assault someone else’s anchor?” Wilder snarls. He stalks closer to the guard, water swirling around his fists. “They skin you alive before filling your lungs with sand and tying you to the helm of a passing ship.”
I watch, a cold satisfaction settling in me as the fae who violated me cowers before my mates.
“Lucky for you, there are no ships here?—”
“We could tie him to the reaper’s boat. Souls are always trying to grapple for a body to inhabit.” Caius smirks, tail swishing behind him. Agitation ignites his runes, their glow pulsing erratically.
“Which hand, Little Bird?” Wilder asks.
A cruel smile curves my lips. “Both.” I swallow hard, memories trying to barrel their way through my mind, but I push them out. “One held me down while the other breached me.”
Wilder blinks, his expression hardening as he turns to Aggonid. “You can regrow his limbs, right?”
The fae devil smirks. “We can regrow any of his body parts.” He glances at Caius. “The key is to keep him alive and conscious through it all.”
Caius nods, a wicked twinkle in his eyes. “Happy to teach you where that fine line is between life and death.” He clears his throat, gesturing towards the guard. “Like now, he’s about four seconds away from drowning. You should probably clear the water from his lungs now.”
Wilder’s cold eyes settle on the prisoner and he flicks his wrist. The water rushes out of the guard's lungs in a violent spray, leaving him gasping and sputtering.
"Please," the guard chokes out between desperate breaths. "I'm sorry!”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” I snarl, stepping closer. The guard flinches away, pressing himself further into the corner. “You tried to take something that wasn’t yours to take. Had I not broken your nose, you would’ve.”
My hands tremble at my sides, rage causing fire to flare in my palms, projecting harsh shadows across his terrified face.
“Would you like to take his fingers?” Caius whispers in my ear.
I glance back at him, and then down to his outstretched hand, which holds a pair of small pruners.
I smile, trailing my fingers along his forearm until they rest upon the small metal object. The cold weight settles in my palm as I take them from him. After turning back to the guard, I step closer to him, imitating the smirk he’d worn on his face that night.
“No, stop, please! I’ll do anything!” he begs, struggling against my soul bond’s shadows.
I ignore his pleas, crouching down in front of the monster.
Glancing over my shoulder, I call to Wilder. “People bleed more in water, right? ”
He nods, a cruel smile curving his lips. “They do. I think lava has water in it, too. Maybe we can try that later?”
I turn back to the guard, satisfaction singing in my veins. “Good.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. There’s a venomous edge to it born of grief so deep, it’s transformed into something dark and unrecognizable. “Because I want him to feel everything.”
Wilder comes up beside me and his fingers dance in a precise fashion. Water begins to pool around the guard’s feet, slowly rising up his legs as it remains contained to just the corner. The fae whimpers as the water rises around him, lapping at his knees.
“Where’s he pulling this from?” Caius whispers.
“Fuck if I know. The air, I imagine.” Aggonid’s tone is full of awe.
Caius seems to agree. “This will come in handy.”
I hear rather than see Aggonid hum in agreement.
Tightening my grip on the shears, I reach into the water for the guard’s hand. He tries to pull away, but Aggonid’s shadows yank it taut.
“Please, I’m begging you—” he chokes out.
I lean in, inches from his ear. “Did you stop when I begged you?”
The guard’s eyes widen in terror as I position the shears around his first finger. “This is for every woman you've ever hurt,” I whisper. Without hesitation—or remorse—I squeeze the handles together, which is more difficult than I’d thought. The blade slices through flesh and bone with a sickening crunch, causing him to pass out.
He shoots up, coughing and spluttering as he breaches the water. His agonized screams become our backdrop as he stares in horror at the bloody stump where his finger used to be.
Wilder steps forward, his eyes cold as he moves his hands in a sharp arc. The water around the guard's legs begins to churn and bubble, steam rising as it heats up. Pacey’s screams intensify.
“Keep going,” Caius urges. “We’ll all have our fun, but I want to watch him suffer. He deserves to feel every bit of pain he inflicted on our mate.”
"You all want a finger?" I glance down. "We could have two each."
Aggonid's lips curl into a cruel smile, his red eyes blazing. "I think that's a fine idea, my queen." His shadows tighten around the guard, forcing his hands to remain still as they float in the churning water.
Caius steps forward, his tail lashing behind him, runes rippling along his translucent skin, as though in anticipation. "I'll take the thumbs," he growls, pale blue eyes flashing with malice. He tucks his dark blue hair behind his ears, readying himself.
Wilder hides his grimace, but I see it in the tight lines around his lips. “Ring fingers for me.”
“I’ll take the pinkies,” Em says quietly from where he’s propped against the far wall in the shadows. His dark curls fall into his sapphire eyes before he huffs, blowing the lock out of his face.
“Guess that leaves you the middle fingers.” I smirk back at Aggonid.
“Fine by me.” He lifts my chin gently before his lips claim mine in a searing kiss. My phoenix stirs inside me, warmth blooming, curling around my heart and purring like a creature finally home.
I turn back to the guard, who's sobbing and begging incoherently through his pain. I ignore his pleas, positioning the shears around his other index finger.
I snarl, my grip tightening until my knuckles ache. His screams echo in my ears, but they’re nothing compared to the roar of my own pain—Az, gone. My mates, broken. And me, left clawing at the jagged remains of what they took from me. Satisfaction rises, bitter and fleeting, because no matter how much blood I spill, it will never bring back what I’ve lost.
His finger floats away in the bloody water. I pass the shears to Caius, who takes them with a predatory grin.
One by one, we take our turns. Each snip of the shears, each agonized cry, feels like justice—for me, for every victim this monster has ever touched. The water around us grows darker, thicker with blood.
When we're done, the guard slumps against the wall, barely conscious, his hands mangled stumps floating in the small pool. His sobs have quieted to weak whimpers, and his eyes are glazed.
I step back, adrenaline still coursing through me as though it were a living thing. There’s a part of me that should feel the tiniest bit sick at what we’ve done, but a larger part feels … satisfied. Vindicated. Like I’ve reclaimed a piece of myself that was stolen.
Facing my mates—and Emeric—I wipe the sweat off my brow. “Tomorrow, I think I’d like to cleave his dick from his body.”
The men still.
“Okay,” Caius whispers. “You may touch it only if you’re removing it from him.”
“Perhaps we can nail it to his cell wall?” Wilder offers.
“Works for me.” Aggonid smirks.
“And as soon as we re-heal him, she can do it again,” Emeric chimes in.
“This is how you should be handling any rapist who ends up down here.” I fold my arms across my front.
“Agreed.” Aggonid's arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against his chest. His lips brush my temple as he murmurs, "You did well, my queen. He'll never hurt you—or anyone else—again."
I lean into him, suddenly exhausted. The weight of everything—Azazel's death, the trauma I've endured, this act of vengeance—crashes over me. My legs tremble, threatening to give out.
"I've got you," Aggie whispers, scooping me into his arms. I bury my face in his neck, inhaling his familiar scent of vetiver and tobacco.
"What do we do with him now?" Wilder asks.
“I think this is going to be his cell for eternity. He gets our VIP treatment.” Caius narrows his eyes as he glares back at the guard. “Any time we need to vent our rage, we can pop down here in between his daily torture sessions from the demons.”
For good measure, Wilder flicks his wrist, causing the water surrounding the guard to boil briefly before draining it down a small grate in the corner of the cell. The guard lets out a final whimper as his burned, mutilated body slumps against the wall, unconscious.
“Let’s go.” Aggonid’s words sooth me as he carries me out of the cell. “You need rest before we tackle the next two.”
I nod weakly against his chest, drained of all energy. The adrenaline that fueled me through our act of vengeance has faded, leaving me exhausted. As Aggonid carries me out of the dungeon, the others follow close behind, and the full force of everything crashes over me, leaving me to unravel.
Azazel is gone. Really gone. And no amount of torture or vengeance will bring him back.
A sob catches in my throat, and I press my face harder into my soul bond’s neck, trying to stifle the sound. His arms tighten around me, a quiet comfort I wish I could drown in.
Azazel’s face flashes in my mind, his presence always calm, a puzzle no one could fully solve. He carried himself with a stillness that could unnerve or comfort, depending on whether you were part of his small circle. His silence was a choice, a restraint that spoke louder than words ever could. Now, the space he once filled feels hollow, as though something vital has been cut away.
And it aches. Gods, it aches. The pain is a living thing, rampaging at my insides, carving a path through me. I want to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all. But I’m too exhausted, too drained to do anything but cling to Aggonid as he carries me through the winding corridors of the castle.
The others follow quietly, their footsteps barely registering in the cavernous halls. I can feel their concern, their worry radiating off them in waves. But right now, I can’t bring myself to reassure them. I can barely hold myself together.
After a nap, I’ll put one foot in front of the other.