Chapter 28
Aimee
“Come on, Aimee, you asked for this. Hit me with your best shot,” Sariah giggles, bouncing on her feet in the middle of the training hall, and wiggling her finger at me in a come-hither motion.
“I proposed we spar, not this,” I say, watching her movements with weary eyes. She’s twirling a thin blade between her fingers, with the poised grace of a lethal panther.
“We did that already. It’s boring, and it’s not what you’ll face against your sister.”
My shadows slink around my forearms, begging to be unleashed against Sariah’s translucent light.
“You’re good at combat, I’ll give you that. Pretty boy trained you well, but you need to master your magic; wield it like the weapon it is. Not as an emotional response. Not like a buried instinct breaking free. You have to command them with intention and precision.”
“Pretty boy?” I cling to Blaise’s mention, hoping to deter her from cornering me into unleashing my shadows upon her. I don’t want to hurt her. “What happened between you two while we were away? You seem… fulfilled.”
Sariah explodes in a full-on laugh, sharp and crystalline like glass bells clinking against each other in the wind.
“You know what?” She throws her blade away, letting the tips of her fingers turn incandescent blue. “I will tell you all about it if you stop being afraid and attack me with your shadows.”
“Sunshine, no,” I sigh. “I don’t want to.”
“Not even to hear all about what else pretty boy can do with that clever mouth of his besides throwing smart-ass remarks?” She wiggles her eyebrows in exaggerated movements, and for a second there, it almost feels like we’re back in Annerough, preparing for a performance and gossiping about our latest conquests.
“I have imagination; I can fill in the gaps on my own,” I answer with a half-laugh.
“Fine. Be on the receiving end, then.”
I don’t get the time to ponder what she means, as streams of blinding light erupt from her hands, swallowing the room at a dizzying speed. I raise my hands instinctively to cover my face, my shadows breaking free and a protective barrier of darkness envelopes me.
“That’s it, Aimee. Now push. Don’t let my power advance on you.”
Sweat trickles down my temples as I focus on the cracks her light is trying to form in my shield.
Images flash before my eyes: of my sister snapping Chip’s neck, of her minions belittling me, and her vicious laugh every time they did.
I see Jonathan pretending to take a liking to the girl with no powers, no friends.
My skin crawls at the memory of his vile hands on me.
With a roar that tears open my throat, I release the tendrils of darkness like a quiver of hissing snakes that swallow her light, throwing her violently against the far wall.
Fuck.
She jumps back to her feet with a wicked grin, shaking her limbs loose.
“That’s more like it. Do it again.”
“You’re mad,” I hiss through gritted teeth.
“Morweena is even more,” she replies in a sing-song voice. “Again, Aimee.”
I summon my shadows once more, liking the taste of violence permeating the air just a little too much. She wants chaos? Who am I to deny her?
We clash over and over again; my movements sharper and more in control each time. By our tenth try, a dent has formed in the wall in the shape of her lean body.
The creak of the wooden double doors halts our movement; shadows and streaks of light dissolve into thin air.
Blaise takes two steps inside, whistling a carefree tune, before his eyes widen, taking in our disheveled states.
“Don’t tell me I missed a sexy catfight between the two of you?” His tone is light and airy, but his jaw ticks at the bruises forming on Sariah’s pale skin.
“She asked for it. Repeatedly.”
“I’m sure she did,” he answers, nonplussed. “She’s a savage little pixie, as I’ve come to discover myself.”
“Is there any particular reason for your unexpected visit, pretty boy, or are you just that obsessed with me?” Sariah drawls, her half-smile challenging.
“You know damn well that I am,” Blaise answers in a tone that lacks his usual impish bite. “But I came to tell you that your brother and the rest of the Dark Umbras have arrived.”
“Soren,” Sariah breathes, before turning on her heel and running off through the open doors.
Killian’s study is currently a tad crowded. Killian sits at his desk, his watchful gaze trained on the fresh addition to our circle of unlikely heroes.
The tall male has an arm wrapped protectively around Sariah’s waist; his defined muscles bulging through the tight cut of his forest green tunic.
His fair hair, almost white at the tips, and pale complexion give him a ghastly appearance, but the intense azure eyes and the Cupid’s bow shape of his lips, which he shares with his sister, make him less frightening—more strikingly handsome.
He’s currently locked in a silent battle of wills with Blaise, as if measuring every little detail of our friend and finding the results lacking.
Blaise’s stance is defiant, standing on Killian’s left side, his chest puffed out and a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s unaffected by Soren’s hostile behavior toward him.
But his fists are clenched behind his back, his eyes darting too often to Sariah, who seems blissfully unaware of the tension between the two males.
She hasn’t left her brother’s side since he arrived, filling him in on what transpired on this side of the realm.
Soren moves slightly, putting more distance between his sister and the second-in-command; the gesture a clear warning that Blaise doesn’t fail to catch.
The sound of his grinding teeth doesn’t escape my heightened hearing, and I worry a fight is brewing between these testosterone-imbued walls.
I nudge Killian with my foot and throw him a pointed look, silently urging him to intervene.
He shrugs non-committally, a corner of his lips turning up slightly.
He’s enjoying this showdown, I realize with a start. To see his imperturbable rake of a friend properly perturbed.
“Soren of the Haelstrom bloodline,” Ereshkygall says from the window where she has been gazing into the snow-capped gardens. Thank fuck for this small mercy!
“Your Grace,” he says, bowing his head and going down on one knee in a show of reverent submission.
Ereshkygall moves like a chimera, her silver hair brushing the polished wood floors. She places a hand on the crown of his head, her warm-toned skin such a stark contrast against his platinum locks.
“Rise, child. I am not worthy of such reverence. Just ancient.”
Soren parts his lips, probably ready to declare his devotion, when the door opens, Nella ushering Mattya and Axel inside.
“If that is all, my King,” she says with a slight incline of her head, her hand still grasping the door handle.
“Stay, Nella,” both Sariah and I say at the same time.
“You’re a part of us, Nella,” I continue. “Lost as much at the hands of my sister as anyone else in this room. You deserve a place at the deciding table.”
Her gaze goes to Killian, searching for his permission.
“She’s my Queen, Nella, just as much as she is yours. Her words are final. They do not need my seal of approval.”
“I am not saying this as a Queen, though,” I interject. “Not even as the Foretold One. I am asking you to join us as your friend.”
Nella’s smile is small and composed, but her eyes shine with gratitude.
She takes two strides inside the room, taking her place next to Sariah, who smiles broadly at her.
From behind her slim frame, Soren peeks a glance at Nella, with the same assessing gaze he was measuring Blaise with, but he definitely doesn’t look like he finds her deficient in any way.
“Thank you, Aimee. My King.”
“Now what?” Axel asks from the doorway, where both he and his brother have remained standing.
“Now we plan a war,” Blaise answers with a laugh devoid of any humor.
“First, we should gather all our allies. Little umbra, can you contact your dragon? We need to speak to the human leaders.”
“Her dragon?” Nella asks in astonishment, looking at Sariah for an answer.
“It’s a whole thing, Nellie, babe. I’ll explain later,” Sariah nudges her playfully, garnering Soren’s attention on the petite human once again.
I close my eyes, letting the clamor of the room fade away as I enter my mind palace, in search of the thread that will take me to K’haram. He makes his presence known immediately, before I even call him out.
“Yes, Omri?”
“K’haram. We’d like to speak with Celine and Khalya if possible. Prepare for the arrival of the human army in Wrahta.”
“Preparations are underway already, Omri. Mael has left with the fleet already, crossing the Vrokdiff Sea as we speak. They should arrive in the North in a few days’ time, taking the longer route to avoid Fae detection.”
Finally, some fucking good news. With the onpyr attack on the castle and the ambush the Dark Umbras suffered in Annerough, our numbers have dwindled more than expected. It’s good to know help is on the way.
If I know one thing about Aurora, she is unpredictable as she is diabolical. She is planning something of monstrous proportions, and every moment we spend in this limbo of tense lull is a moment closer to whatever destruction she will unleash.
Her obsession with Killian—Arwan’s psychosis regarding Akaori—transcended death itself. It would be ludicrous to imagine she’d stall right now.
“And you? The leaders?”
“Come nightfall, we can depart. We shall be there by morning light.”
“Until we meet again, K’haram.”
“Until we do, Omri.”
His rumbling voice echoes in my head as I’m brought back to the study, all eyes pinned on me in nervous anticipation.
“They’ll be here by morning,” I say, grabbing Killian’s hand and tracing soothing circles with my thumb on his palm, in a futile attempt to smooth out my next statement. “Mael and the human army are already on the way, traveling by sea. K’haram is bringing Celine and Kahlya.”
His shoulders tense visibly at the mere mention of the human High-General, and he pulls me onto his lap in front of everyone, burying his head into my curls.
“If that is all, everybody out,” he commands in a voice that brokers no argument. His fingers find my hips, pressing into my flesh through my training leathers.
“Actually, there is one thing I would like to speak with you about, Vampire King,” Sariah states, making him huff in annoyance against my collarbone.
“Then speak.”
“We’d like to commandeer a space in the castle for the mass production of our vampire tranquilizer concoction.”
Killian turns his head from my neck, where his fangs were already dragging against my pulse point, above his Ouroboros mark.
“Mass production of what?”
“I’ve perfected a sleeping potion that knocks out a vampire instantly.
Could be useful against the onpyrs. Our Umbras have been gathering parts of the ingredients, the bloodbane’s root and the dove wings, but we still need a place to prepare the arrows, and we are missing the iron.
We need a considerable amount of liquefied iron.
Unsurprisingly enough, we couldn’t find a lick of it in all of Drovillan. ”
“Consider it done,” Killian says with a nod before turning his gaze on Blaise. “Your girl is quite terrifying.”
“Just the way I like it,” Blaise answers, something akin to pride shining in his baby blues.
A low growl emanates from Soren’s throat, and I’m pretty sure he huffs an “Over my dead body,” as Sariah drags him away.
One by one, they all file out of the chamber, leaving us alone in the welcoming silence.
Killian’s lips are on my throat as soon as the door closes behind Blaise and his warriors, sucking, biting, drawing patterns with his tongue.
Part of me wants to succumb to the tingling feeling washing from my scalp to my toes, but the rational, twat-blocking part of my brain wants to address his irrational jealousy.
“Killian, love,” I say gently, pushing myself away from his sinful mouth.
“I don’t want to talk about it, umbra,” he says, trying to return to his ministrations.
I huff a laugh, pushing him harder.
“I think we’re past the moment of avoiding uncomfortable conversations by using sex, Killian. That would be quite stagnant of us.”