Prologue #2
With my touch, it looses a long breath, its eyes growing unfocused as its chest deflates. More soldiers begin to emerge from the fighting, creating a protective ring around Thalion, trapping me inside with them.
If only they knew the depth of their mistake.
“You should leave,” Thalion’s voice rings out, weak compared to the orders he’d shouted moments ago.
Lifting my gaze from the horse, I’d expected to see him speaking to the soldier beside him. Instead, vibrant violet eyes meet mine.
“Your Majesty,” the soldier believes his king is talking to him, “I cannot—”
“Go!” he barks the word, the force of it causing yet another coughing fit. His eyes don’t leave mine as I stand.
Hesitating, the soldier pulls himself to a stand and reluctantly backs away.
“Not yet, Death Bringer,” he says, his voice so low I barely hear him.
Unable to ignore the call of the hunting instinct, I leap over the horse, wings extending, and land, kneeling beside him. A small, knowing smile curls my lips.
“You signed a contract.” My eyes narrow. “There is no escaping the god of death.”
“I think you’ll find there is,” he laughs, letting his head loll back against the stone.
A strange sensation unfurls itself in my chest, a tugging. Similar to the hunting instinct, but it doesn’t lead me to Thalion. Instead, it beckons me to the right. Head swiveling, Thalion smiles.
“Brother,” he wheezes, a sound that would have been lost to the cacophony around us had I not been so close.
His chest heaves and falls and does not rise again.
The light in his violet eyes fades, his stare growing blank.
Wasting no time, I plunge a hand into the center of his chest, curling my fingers around his soul.
With a firm pull, my hand breaks free, fingers wrapped around a palm-sized ball of red light.
Its color proof the soul has been promised to my father.
A sanity shattering scream tears through the air, the sound laden with loss and mourning. It appears Thalion’s mate is somewhere in this fight, and their bond now lies broken.
The radiant red glow of the soul illuminates the area around me, washing over Thalion’s pallid face. A flash of a silver blade streaks toward my throat and freezes centimeters from its mark. Confused, I freeze, gripping the soul and my innate tight.
“Return him,” a male demands, pressing the blade to my throat.
The voice resonates in my chest with a familiarity I don’t understand. It’s as if I’ve heard it thousands of times. Too stunned to move, struggling to make sense of the feeling, of the situation, I remain still.
The blade rises, forcing my chin up. Through the corner of my eye, I trace the blade to its wielder, and a pair of golden eyes stare down at me.
“Do not make this mistake, mortal,” I manage through clenched teeth.
How in the nine hells is this possible?
This fae is uninjured, not standing close to death. He should not be able to see me, let alone threaten me. He doesn’t move, instead he studies my face.
“Return him, and I’ll send you back to Netharis quickly.”
Unable to stop myself, I stand, the blade following me, my throat, even as I turn to face him.
“Brave mortal doesn’t realize who he is threatening,” I laugh, holding his stare.
He stares at me still, and I feel exposed, judged, vilified. Perhaps rightfully so. The odd pull in my chest beckons me to walk forward, it would have me impale myself on his blade. I firmly plant my feet against it, clutching Thalion’s soul to my chest.
None of this makes sense.
The boldness of his eye color steals all of my attention.
Deep amber gold, ringed with black, set in a beautiful fae face.
A strong jaw, high cheekbones, dark brows—he isn’t simply beautiful, he’s a dark, haunting creature.
The kind of mortal I would seduce into a contract were Netharis to ever allow it.
“Who are you?” I ask, destroying the silence hanging between us. “What are you?”
“I’ve finally found you,” he says softly, lowering his sword. He sounds just as incredulous as I feel.
Stepping back, suspicion snakes up my spine, and my innate vibrates in response. I may have to kill this fae. I should kill this fae. With a swift swing, the fae buries the end of his sword into the dirt and extends an open hand.
An invitation?
From a mortal?
“You belong here,” he says, an unexpected note of pleading in his tone. “With me.”
The pulling sensation sears through my chest, and I take another step backward, fighting the notion. Glancing around, we’re surrounded by chaos, the small circle created by the soldiers keeping the area clear.
It’s as if he’s stepped into the veil, into this realm.
How is such a thing possible?
I’ve taken too long. Netharis is going to start asking questions and I don’t know how to explain this mortal.
“I belong to the hells,” I finally reply, shaking my head.
They’re words I’ve never believed, words Netharis won’t let me forget.
Behind me, my shadows rise, swirling violently, opening a door to the hells. The stench of sulfur and smoke reaches my nose within seconds and I step backward through the portal, holding the fae’s stare.
“I will find you.” He lowers his hand and his words sink into my skin.
Is this one of those fabled fae promises?
Because it sounds more like a threat.
My shadows slam the door shut between us before vanishing like morning fog in the rising sun. I’m left standing alone in the hells with the soul of Thalion Witherhorn, unsure of everything I’ve ever known.