39. Chapter Thirty-Nine
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
WILDER
F or hours, we walk, the river winding its way beside us in endless curves. Around us, the underworld shifts—an eerie landscape stretching as far as the eye can see. Craggy cliffs rise in the distance, their sharp silhouettes cutting into the dull, reddened sky. Patches of barren land stretch along the banks, punctuated by twisted trees with skeletal branches that sway without any wind to move them. The ground beneath our feet shifts between rough stones and dry, cracked earth, as if it can't decide whether to be solid or dust. A foggy mist hangs in the air, carrying a metallic taste that sticks to my tongue.
We’ve seen no one, not even a reaper, though we’ve seen plenty of souls in the water. Each one bears a signature of sorts, flickering like lost lanterns under the swirling currents. The river’s depths pulse with a life of their own, and I can’t shake the feeling that each soul is watching us. Haunting witnesses to our journey, begging us to set them free.
Watching these souls trapped beneath the currents tightens something in my chest. What would it feel like to be among them? Is Az sentient? Would anyone notice if I slipped in, if I became just another bright light swallowed by the dark? The thought haunts me .
I shake my head, willing the idea to shake free. Is that what this place does? Turns your mind against you?
Emeric keeps his focus trained, his eyes tracing the endless twists and curves of the river as it snakes through the underworld. His hands move fluidly, marking each turn with soft gestures, his hellhound instincts kicking in as he charts our course. His brows furrow in concentration, his body tensed as if listening to something just out of earshot. I know he's searching for any sign, any vestige that might tell us we're on the right path.
In his pocket is Aggonid’s necklace, containing his parents’ souls. It carries a strange kind of presence, like a whisper of energy that’s a little unnerving, as though it’s alive.
The sounds of creatures ring in the distance, guttural calls and screeches reverberating across the land. It reminds me a lot of prison. It’s full of Bedlam’s worst fae in existence, all salivating for a taste of freedom—or fresh blood. I shudder, pushing the memories aside. I’m not at Bedlam Penitentiary anymore, but this place feels just as dangerous, probably more so.
Nighttime in the underworld isn’t a time to be caught wandering aimlessly—it’s a time to be somewhere safe, barricaded against the terrors that thrive in the dark. We’re not quite there yet, and every passing moment drives the urgency deeper into my core. Whatever it takes to get my anchor to safety.
Midnight isn’t far, and the question of where we’re going to shelter gnaws at me. The underworld is vast, unforgiving, and its creatures don’t follow any laws but survival.
Hell’s denizens won’t fuck with Morte, not now that she’s Queen of the Underworld, but the creatures absolutely will. The same ones that put gouges in the side of Azazel’s home.
The horizon darkens, the last traces of light swallowed by an all-consuming twilight. Shadows stretch across the ground, growing longer, darker, until the entire landscape seems to be swallowed by the coming night. My concerns lands on Morte, worry gnawing at me. Midnight approaches, and I don’t fancy our chances of setting up the tent in time .
What would we even use to keep the monsters away? Magic? If so, one of us would have to stay up all night. It’d be better if we could find something more akin to a house.
“We need to find shelter,” I mutter, my eyes scanning the near-barren expanse. “Something more substantial than a tent.”
Emeric stops, studying the terrain. “Not exactly an abundance of cozy inns in the underworld,” he says, lips quirking into a humorless smile. But then his eyes catch on something in the distance. “Wait. There.” He points, and I squint in the moonlight, my eyes catching a small structure nestled between two twisted trees—a small, crooked building, much sturdier than a tent.
"A house?” Morte murmurs, her head tilting as she glances around. “Who would live out here?”
“Does it matter?” Emeric glances between us. “It’s shelter. At least until morning. Better than being exposed out here when midnight strikes.”
The house comes into focus, its ramshackle outline crooked between two warped trees that stretch toward the darkened sky like skeletal fingers. The ground beneath our boots shifts, loose stones skittering down the incline as we move cautiously toward it. Twisted roots snake out of the earth, threatening to trip us with every step. I glance behind, scanning the sparse tree line, the River of Souls appearing more peaceful as we move beyond it. My pulse thunders, but the stress loosens with every step closer to shelter.
The house comes into focus—weathered, leaning slightly to one side, its roof covered in dark, creeping vines. Deep gouges mar the heavy door, claw marks from something desperate or monstrous. The windows, shut tight behind warped shutters, seem to hold their secrets within the dark, sagging frame.
“What if whoever lives here comes back?” Morte shuffles on her feet, grabbing her middle as she peeks around the back side of the house.
Em smirks. “Do you think they’d turn away their queen?”
A sheepish look crosses her face, her cheeks flushing a deep rose.
I nod, already moving toward it. “Better than nothing. Let’s go. ”
Giving the place a quick inspection, my fingers trace the heavy grooves left behind by giant claws, but it’s intact. Solid enough to keep the creatures of the underworld out. I push the door open, the metal groaning in protest as it swings inward, revealing a dark, musty interior.
Well, this is creepy as fuck.
Emeric steps inside first, his eyes sweeping across the small space, assessing it for any threats. The room is empty, save for a few pieces of broken furniture scattered across the floor—a splintered table, a couple of rickety chairs. Dust hangs in the air, the feeble scent of rot lingering.
And four beds.
Morte stays a step behind, her eyes narrowing as she assesses the abandoned place. My hand brushes the door’s grooves one more time, just to be on the safe side, feeling for any kind of give. Satisfied we’ll be okay, I step inside. Shadows stretch deep into the room, and though the walls look sturdy enough to keep the underworld’s creatures at bay, a sense of unease stirs in my gut.
“Home sweet home,” Emeric mutters, dropping his pack onto the floor, kicking up plumes of dirt.
Morte joins us inside, her spooked stare surveying the dark corners of the room, hand lingering against the wall as she moves. “It’ll do for the night,” she says quietly, her amused eyes meeting mine. “We’ve faced worse. At least there are beds.”
I raise a brow. “If you think I’m ever sleeping apart again?—”
“We’ve got a new mating bond, so I get?—”
Morte lets out an exasperated sigh and drops to her knees, her hands quickly pushing the four beds together with a loud scrape of wood against the floor. The grating sound pierces my ears, and I flinch at the sudden noise in such a confined space.
I glance at Emeric with an annoyed expression. We could’ve done that for her instead of having a pissing contest to lay claim to her.
I inspect the window, giving the bars a little tug. They groan, but don’t otherwise move. I shut the door behind us, securing it with the rusted latch. Part of it crumbles in my hand, rust flaking onto my fingers. Raising my arms, I draw the moisture from the air, the dampness pooling in my palm. The rust responds immediately, the flakes dissolving as I force the water into the corroded metal. The latch stiffens, its surface smoothing as the rot peels away. The shutters groan as the hinges mend, rust peeling away under my control. “That should hold,” I mutter, glancing back at the others. “Let’s hope it keeps whatever’s out there on the other side.”
Emeric gives me a grim smile, his eyes meeting mine. “If it doesn’t, we’ll make sure they regret the decision.”
After eating a light supper of dried meat, cheese, and fruit, we pile onto the bed, Morte lying between Emeric and me, her head resting against my shoulder, her arm draped over Emeric’s waist. The noises outside grow louder—growls, eerie shrieks, the scraping of claws against the metal walls of the house. My heart thunders, my stare fixed on the entrance to the home, waiting, listening, every instinct on high alert.
“You know,” I whisper, “this was not how I envisioned spending my night.”
Emeric’s lips twitch, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. “You were expecting silk sheets and a warm bath?”
“Maybe just a bed that doesn’t creak every time I breathe.” I glance at Morte. “You okay?”
She shifts, her eyes opening, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah. Though I wouldn’t mind if the company outside quieted down a bit.”
A loud thud echoes through the house, something heavy slamming against the door, and my heart leaps into my throat. Morte tenses beside me, her fingers tightening around my arm, her breath catching. Em’s eyes taper, his body going still, his attention fixed on the door.
The noise fades, replaced by the distant growls and shrieks, and I let out a slow breath. “See? This is why I prefer water,” I mutter. “Less ... banging.”
“Until it tries to drown you.” Emeric’s eyes flit to me, amusement in their depths.
I suppress a smirk. “I can’t drown. ”
“And I didn’t think you had a problem with banging.” He raises a brow at me, and I huff out a laugh.
My grin deepens as our mate’s cheeks flush. “She certainly hasn’t complained.”
Morte’s fingers brush against my cheek, leaning in to press her lips against mine. “Zero complaints here.” Her eyes search mine, her expression softening. “I wanted to thank you for what you did,” she whispers. “It’s selfish of me, but I’m really glad you’re here.”
My throat tightens at her words, emotion welling up inside me. “I’d die a million times, in the worst possible ways, if it meant I got to be with you.” I lean in, pressing my forehead against hers, our breaths mingling. "You don't have to thank me," I murmur. "In a million lifetimes, I’d always choose you. I was made for you, and you were made for me. I’ll never, ever make the mistake of abandoning you again."
Her eyes grow glossy, her lips parting as if to speak, but no words come. Instead, she pulls me closer, her lips meeting mine in a kiss that's both tender and desperate. I lose myself in her warmth, in the feeling of her fingers tangling in my hair, in the way her body fits perfectly against mine as I hitch her leg over mine.
Emeric clears his throat, reminding us of his presence. “As touching as this is, do you think whoever’s house this is will take lightly to us having sex in it?” He smirks. “In their beds?”
I break away from Morte, my cheeks warming. "We weren't going to—" I start, but Em's raised eyebrow silences me. I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. "Right. We should probably focus on getting a good night’s rest, so we can rise with the sun.”
Morte's hand finds mine, her fingers intertwining with my own. "Agreed," she says, her voice slightly husky. "But we're not done with this conversation." Her eyes meet mine, filled with promise and heat.
I groan, rolling her under me. “We’re not having sex. I’m just worshipping my anchor. Two minutes, and then you can go to sleep.”
She laughs softly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Two minutes? That's all I get?"
I grin, trailing my fingers along her jawline. "Well, maybe three, if you're lucky. "
She pulls me down for another kiss, this one slower, deeper. When we part, she whispers against my lips, "I'll take what I can get."
I begin placing gentle kisses along her neck, savoring the soft sighs that escape her. Her fingers tangle in my hair, guiding me to the spots that make her shiver.
Emeric’s chest rumbles with a deep groan. “If he gets three minutes, then I get three minutes.” He bites his lip when I glance at him. “I’ve been thinking about burying my face between your thighs all day,” he whispers against her ear.
I freeze, my lips still pressed against Morte's collarbone. Her breath catches, and I feel her pulse quicken beneath my touch. The air in the room suddenly feels charged, electric.
Morte's words are husky when she speaks. "Is that so, Em?"
I lift my head, meeting her wicked stare. Her eyes are dark with desire, but there's a question in them, too. She's leaving the decision up to me.
Emeric studies my reaction, and his shoulders loosen when I incline my head.
Her fingers tighten on my hair as I scoot down, pulling off her pants, taking her underwear with. I toss them on the ground, then settle between her legs, my hands caressing her thighs.
Emeric moves closer, whispering against Morte's neck as he trails his lips along her jaw.
I take my time, teasing her with light touches and gentle kisses on her inner thighs. Her breathing quickens, her hips shifting restlessly. Em captures her mouth, swallowing her soft moans as I finally give her what she wants.
I lose myself in the taste of her, the sounds she makes, the way her body responds to my touch. Emeric's presence only heightens the intensity, his low murmurs of encouragement spurring me on. Our mate’s fingers tighten in my hair, her back arching as she gets closer to the edge.
"Oh gods," she gasps, breaking away from Emeric's kiss. "Don't stop, please don't stop."
I double my efforts, using everything I've learned about her body, and what I feel through our bond, to push her over the brink. With my water magic, I pull molecules from the air and direct them at her clit while I devour her.
Emeric cups her face, kissing her deeply as she comes undone beneath us. Her body quakes, her thighs tightening around my head as waves of pleasure rocket through her. I don't let up, drawing out her orgasm until she's gasping and tugging at my hair.
When I finally pull back, Morte is flushed and breathless, her eyes glazed with satisfaction.
She sits up. “Fuck, that was?—”
But Emeric doesn’t give her but a moment’s reprieve before he urges me to move over. Instead of lowering his head, he flips her over onto her stomach, yanking her hips back.
Morte gasps in surprise, but eagerly complies, arching her back and presenting herself to him. He runs his hands appreciatively over the curves of her hips and ass, his pale eyes growing heavy-lidded. I watch, mesmerized, as he positions himself behind her.
He spreads her cheeks, spitting. I watch as the spit dribbles from her puckered hole to her already drenched pussy. Em teases her entrance with the tip of his upper cock, eliciting a needy whimper from Morte. With a low groan, he slowly pushes inside her.
Suddenly, I’m regretting only asking for three minutes. The hellhound seems to sense this, and he pulls her back against his chest, gesturing with his head for me to lie down while he pulls out and positions his lower cock in her.
“You want us both, Little Bird?” I whisper in her ear.
“Gods, yes,” she begs.
I quickly comply, positioning myself beneath them. Emeric guides Morte down onto me, and I gasp as I slide into her wet heat. The sensation is overwhelming—her tight warmth enveloping me as Emeric's cock presses against mine through the thin barrier between us.
Morte moans loudly, her head falling back against Emeric's shoulder as she's filled from both sides. Em begins to move, setting a slow, deep rhythm that has us all panting. I grip her hips, helping to steady her as his thrusts push her down onto me.
“Two hundred years, we could’ve been doing this. I’m going to take more than my two minutes.” I bury myself against her neck, breathing her in as I sink my teeth into her, and she whimpers in response.
Her sweet blood fills my mouth, coating my tongue.
Emeric's pace quickens, his powerful strokes driving deeper. I match his rhythm, thrusting up into Morte as he pushes down, working together to satisfy our mate. The friction between us is exquisite, and I can feel every twitch and pulse of his cock through her walls.
"Oh gods, oh gods," she chants, her voice rising in pitch. Her inner muscles clench around us both, and I know she's close to the edge again.
Emeric growls, his hands tightening on her hips as he pounds into her. The force of his thrusts drives her down onto me harder, and I struggle to maintain control.
Pulling away, my tongue laves at her neck to heal my bite. "Come for us, Little Bird." I pant, reaching between us to rub tight circles on her clit.
Emeric’s cocks begin to vibrate, and he inches in his other cock alongside his first one, putting a tremendous amount of pressure on us both. I feel my cock being strangled, and I’m about to blow.
With a keening wail, she shatters, her body convulsing between us. Her pulsing walls trigger my own release, and I cry out as I spill inside her, my hips lifting hers.
Emeric roars, his movements stuttering as he follows us over the edge. I can feel the heat of his release spilling onto my lap, mingling with my own as it seeps out of her.
We collapse in a tangle of limbs, gasping and trembling in the aftermath, hearts still wild in their cages. Morte whimpers softly as Em gently pulls out, his seed trickling down her thighs. He rolls to the side, pulling her with him, and I curl around her front, sandwiching her between our bodies.
As our breathing slowly returns to normal, I stroke my anchor’s flushed cheek, marveling at the blissful expression on her face. Emeric rumbles contentedly, nuzzling into her hair.
"I’m glad we didn’t stick with our original plan," I murmur, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
They both chuckle. "Me too." Morte sighs, her eyes still closed in post-coital bliss. "This was ... incredible."
Emeric hums in agreement, his large hand splayed possessively across her stomach. "I had to use magic to make it fit.”
I raise my head to look at the hellhound. “Figured you had to do something like that to get it all in there.” I grin.
The three of us settle in, the noises outside a constant prompt of where we are, of the danger that lurks just beyond the thin walls of the house. Midnight slips by, each hour stretching endlessly as we await dawn—the first light to pierce the darkness, bringing the promise of a new day, another chance to find Azazel.
But when morning finally comes, it brings something else entirely.