Chapter 12
Aimee
Iwalk the corridors of Kasbah Sol’Kantarra with my chin held high, as if I hadn’t crossed the same hallways in the dead of night, stark naked like a newborn.
I didn’t stumble upon any curious gazes, but that doesn’t mean that no soul witnessed my shameful walk.
Yet, as I stride through the palace, guided by a petite human toward the meeting with the human leaders, I am resolute on two things.
The first is to exude calm confidence and focus on the crucial reason we came here in the first place: securing the alliance with the humans.
I hope Killian didn’t fuck it up irremediably last night when he attacked Mael like a savage.
I was half expecting the High General to knock on my door this morning, and I was prepared to ask for forgiveness on behalf of that vampire asshole.
Seeing how he didn’t show up, but sent instead the brunette who’s leading the way on silent feet, I’m worried about how grim our prospects really are.
The second is to ignore Killian at all costs, unless our interaction is to pacify the rulers of Reweroth.
I meant what I told him. Our brief foray into madness changes nothing between us. My flesh and my shadows might be weak for him, but my mind will not succumb to his possessive proclamations so easily.
As we stop in front of a tall archway that leads into an inner courtyard bordered by trees—orange blossoms in bloom—I feel my anxiety kick up a few notches.
I swipe my sweaty palms against the pleated folds of my gold-hued gown and steady my breath before I step into the sunlit space.
I concentrate on the sweet, citrusy fragrance wafting through the air, on the melodic chirps of little birds hiding on the branches, and on the trickle of water down the marble fountain in the middle of the courtyard.
Hidden in the thick foliage of the orangery, there’s a low, round, wooden table with intricate detailing stitched into its sides and several leather ottomans placed around it.
Two breathtaking women sit side by side, lounging in a relaxed pose, one’s head resting on the other one’s shoulder as they chat with Killian.
I clench my fists anxiously at his presence.
He has his back turned to me, and the only sign that he’s aware of my arrival is a slight tensing of his shoulders.
The woman on the left lifts her cerulean eyes and regards me with warmth.
She must be Kahlya. The resemblance to Mael is uncanny.
They share the same shade of auburn hair with orange undertones, the same upturned bright blue eyes and regal nose.
But where Mael is all rugged and strong lines, she is soft and delicate curves.
“Come, come, so delighted to finally meet you, Aimee,” she says, extending her slender arm toward me.
The other woman, a tall, warrior type with slick black hair styled in a pixie cut and mocha skin, lifts her head from Kahlya’s shoulder and gives me a reserved nod.
Celine.
I take a few steps forward and take a seat next to Killian, although my body is screaming at the proximity.
“United front. United front.” I keep chanting in my head as he turns his face toward me, his eyes filled with conflicting emotions I don’t want to dwell on right now.
“Umbra,” he says, his voice softer than it has been in weeks. But is it all for show, or a result of last night?
“Killian,” I acknowledge him with a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes, before turning my attention to the humans.
“Thank you so much for having us, Your Highnesses. I’d like to apologize for our atypical arrival. I’ve just come into my powers recently, and I’m still learning the full extent of them or how I can wield them.”
“No need to apologize,” Kahlya interjects, holding out her hands across the table and grabbing my palms between hers. “We are honestly honored to meet the Foretold One, as we were just telling Killian before you arrived.”
“There’s also no need for lofty titles,” Celine adds.
Her demeanor is more guarded than her lover’s, but her small smile is earnest. She seems the quiet, serious type, contrasting with Kahlya’s clearly bubbly personality.
“We don’t hold ourselves to the senseless standards of the Faes, or even the vampires,” she says, throwing a glance at Killian.
I expect him to grumble something under his breath at the jab, but his grin is wide and sincere.
Maybe this meeting is not doomed after all.
“I know my cousin already shared our biggest secret with you last night,” Kahlya says, smirking. “You’ll have to excuse his absence. We decided it would be better if he didn’t join us today, seeing how he might’ve overstepped on someone’s toes.”
Shit. Here we go.
The tips of my ears burn with secondhand embarrassment, and my anxiety returns tenfold, prickling my skin like tiny ice shards. Killian places a calloused hand on my thigh, stopping my leg from bouncing uncontrollably.
I didn’t even notice I was doing that.
His cold touch ironically sends a wave of heat through my bloodstream, and I hate how my nerves settle with his supportive gesture.
“About that,” he says, clearing his throat, “I want to apologize for my discourteous behavior during dinner. I’m afraid my jealousy got the best of me, and I am troubled that I might have caused you great offense.
This alliance is crucial for the future of Imiryion, and you have my word that no such lapse in judgement will occur again. ”
Oh, so he can be diplomatic if he wants to be. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.
“So, are you two an item?” Kahlya leans over the table, her eyes shining with curiosity. “The prophesied saviors and a couple?”
“No,” I say at the same time he answers, “Yes.”
His hand clenches on my thigh, gripping my flesh possessively.
“It’s, uhm, rather complicated,” I stammer.
“We have some differences to work out, but I assure you they do not interfere with our common goal. We are attuned to each other regarding our roles in defeating Morweena,” Killian says somberly.
Differences? Ha! That’s one way to describe the shitshow that is going on between us. I clench my teeth while plastering a fake smile that hurts my jaw. I would love nothing more than to shove his hand off my leg, the one currently drawing lazy circles with his thumb as if this is normal.
As if we’re okay.
But for the sake of appearances, I swallow my rage and place my hand gingerly on top of his.
“Yeah, nothing to worry about.”
“Great,” Kahlya says animatedly. “Can’t wait to hear more about it, though. I am a sucker for a good love story.”
Love? Killian wouldn’t know what that really is even if it hit him in his stupidly handsome face.
I can’t help the snort that escapes me, masking it with a cough. She doesn’t seem to notice, but Celine’s eyes are trained on us with calculated inquisitiveness. It seems she’s not one for many words, but I’m afraid she sees past the feeble picture of unity we’re trying to project.
“Enough chatter. I believe it’s time you met K’haram. He’s a wise judge of character, and he’ll determine if this alliance is worth our trouble.”
Celine’s words have a certain finality in them. I gulp nervously.
Time to face the dragon.
Killian
I can’t shake the feeling of foreboding as we descend the steep, narrow stairs leading deep into the belly of Sol’Kantarra.
Something monumental is about to happen.
I can feel it deep within the darkest confines of my soul, and I can’t decide if the warning bells going off in my head are warranted or not.
The humans trust this dragon, and having such a magical beast on our side in the brewing war would, without a shadow of a doubt, be pivotal for us. But something unnamed makes me weary.
Aimee’s chocolate mane sways gently as she walks in front of me, her hands touching the polished sunstone walls twinkling in the low light.
The elevated platform on which the palace is built is not just a decorative choice; it hides the Temple of the Desert God.
An intricate underground cave system where the last dragon in existence dwells.
“Umbra,” I whisper, trying to catch Aimee’s attention without alerting the human leaders in front of our little group.
She barely looks back at me over her shoulder, hissing a hushed “What?”
I let my shadows loose, eating up the space between us and curling around her arms and torso, dragging her back into my chest. Her body is stiff, coiled like an arc that’s about to snap at any moment, but her shadows welcome mine.
“Umbra,” I repeat against the shell of her ear, tracing the soft curve with my lips.
She shudders before huffing between clenched teeth.
“What do you want, Killian? Now is not the time for your games.”
I resent the implication of her words. I am not playing games. Not when it comes to us. But from her point of view, it might look like that, I realize with a start.
“Something feels off. I want you to stay alert. If I’m right and we get fucked over, I need you to follow my lead.”
She turns her head slightly, boring her golden eyes straight into my soul.
“You’re being paranoid, Killian. Nothing will go wrong.”
“Just be careful, Aimee. Please.”
“Fine,” she says, before detangling herself from my grip and putting distance between us just as we arrive at the end of the stairwell.
The antechamber we enter is wide and high-vaulted, empty besides the various torchlights castings a yellow glow on the polished walls.
At the far end of the space, gleaming bronze gates guard the secrets on the other side.
The intricate glyphs carved along the length of the doors are unfamiliar to me, and it puzzles me to see an ancient language I’ve never encountered before in my long existence.
“Beyond these doors is the Temple of the Desert God,” Kahlya announces, turning to face us.
“Once inside, we will all consume the blend of Cistanchea and mahia, and the trance ritual will commence.” She retrieves several vials from her pouch and hands one to each of us.
“It’s a very potent concoction, so I don’t recommend taking it before we enter the temple and get, well… comfortable.”
I spin the vial between my fingers, checking the golden liquid inside with distrust. I don’t like this idea at all, being left vulnerable in front of a creature that could chew our bones in the blink of an eye.
“Do we all need to drink this?” I ask, although I already know what her answer will be.
“Yes,” Celine answers instead. “K’haram will take offense if only one of you goes through with the ritual.”
“Of course he will,” I mutter to myself, but Aimee picks up on my mumbling. She casts me a disapproving side-eye glance before reassuring the humans that we’ll both take part in the ritual as intended.
She grabs my hand and drags me along the chamber until we’re crossing the threshold of the now-open gates.
My protest dies in my throat at the feel of her delicate fingers wrapped around my wrist, her warmth seeping into me and spreading like wildfire.
Even now, after all the heartache and betrayal, I would still go to the ends of the world for this female.
All she needs to do is say the word, and my stupid heart would follow her to the pits of hell.
Kahlya and Celine are already inside, bowing deeply to the shadows of the cavernous space. I squint my eyes, but with all my vampiric heightened senses, I can’t pierce the veil of darkness in front of us. It’s like I’m staring straight into a bottomless void.
Aimee stills beside me, her fingers trembling imperceptibly against my skin, just as two orbs of emerald green blink open in the blackness beyond us.
“Umbra, what’s wrong?”
“K’haram, he’s—umm, he’s talking to me. I can understand him.”
Her soft whisper is like a blade in the deadly silence of the cave.
That’s impossible.
We didn’t drink the Akaoridamn concoction yet.
What the fuck is going on here?