Chapter Thirty-Two
My life in exchange for the souls of Ollora, of the whole of Erus.
What makes my soul worth more than any other?
And why is Netharis so hellbent on keeping me under his control?
It can’t simply be a matter of his pride. It’s not like I’m the heir of the hells. I’ve never mattered to Netharis. Why do I matter now?
His pride cannot be this fallible.
Sitting on the floor before the fireplace, the piece of wood I’d added causes glowing sparks to float up, riding the flames into the chimney. I watch them as they vanish, either dying out or rising out of view.
No amount of heat is chasing away the numbness I feel, and I find no glimmers of hope to guide me away from my descent into darkness. I lose myself in the dancing flames, staring through them as I plunge into my thoughts. Growing orange flames lick at the wood, marring it black.
In the end, the wood will change.
It will be rendered so wholly different with no chance of ever returning to what it once was—ash.
I am the log.
Netharis the flame.
In less than twenty-four hours, I will be standing in the hells awaiting the horrors my father has in store as reward for my behavior. I’ll be punished for my escape, for the death of Kassil, for standing against him at every possible crossroads.
I know in my bones I need to be ready for imprisonment.
Again.
My skin crawls with the thought as my innate folds in on itself, creating a tight ball in the pit of my stomach. If I remain, if I continue to fight, he will send demons into the living realm to kill and send my siblings to collect.
Demons will ravage Ollora, not stopping until they’re put down.
If not prepared, Ollora will fall in the span of a few hours.
I suck in a sharp breath, holding it tight in my chest.
Netharis’ threat is a risky one.
It’s as if he expects me to fold before it comes to that.
And honestly, I might.
Forcing a large number of demons and undead through the veil into the living realm will weaken it, upsetting the balance. It’s one of the reasons Netharis is limited to thirteen Death Bringers—he would have more if the pantheon of gods would allow it.
The other gods will notice the breach, but how long will it take them to react? To stop Netharis’ forces? To save the mortals of Ollora?
Can I do that?
Can I wait for the gods to stop Netharis?
And what happens if they do nothing?
Just like the prayers they leave unanswered.
Netharis will continue to be a threat for as long as he exists.
My eyes dart over my shoulder to my bed, falling upon the messenger bag Eve had brought with her following dinner. Lilith had shown me to these quarters in the northern wing, Eve’s room a dozen yards down the hall.
With a swift kiss upon my brow, Ryc ordered me removed from the dining room and Lilith complied.
I didn’t fight.
I didn’t argue.
I simply let her take me, Eve following in my wake.
The chaos of the dining room fell silent behind closed doors as Lilith led me through the halls, up several flights of stairs and down various corridors. She provided a quick tour of the expansive suite before shutting the door after her and leaving me to myself.
The bag holds everything I’d brought with me from the hells and the bloodstone dagger Ryc had gifted me.
Do I have what it takes to stand against a god?
Can I kill my father?
It’s the only way I’ll ever be free of him.
Our contract will be considered complete if he no longer exists. I doubt Netharis added a death clause—what god expects to die? But it means returning to the hells after all, likely for good.
Zuriel helped me escape once, I doubt he would help me again.
And even if he would, I’ve no means of reaching him.
Rising, I move across the room toward the balcony doors.
Hours have passed since I’ve seen Ryc last.
Reaching for that gold rope, I feel for Ryc through our channel.
The deafening silence that greets me is not surprising. But I hate it all the same. He’s warded himself against me, knowing I’d barrage him with questions.
Stepping into the night, a gentle breeze sweeps over my face, a welcome balm over my flame-heated cheeks. I lift my chin skyward. The silver light of the moon hangs above in silent greeting.
I scoff.
She would be the only creature that hates Netharis more than I.
Mortals may not be able to stand against Netharis… but a goddess can.
Approaching the banister, my gaze remains fixed on the night sky. The part of the living realm I quickly fell in love with during my earliest years as a Death Bringer. Seeing it, or even recalling it, had always brought me some semblance of comfort throughout my existence—
I no longer feel it.
Instead, I feel foolish and naive for ever believing I could do more, see more, be more.
“I understood your silence in the hells, but I do not understand your silence now,” I speak, my voice low, staring at the moon.
Praying.
I’m praying to my mother.
I will beg her for help if that’s what it will take.
Silence.
Gods don’t answer the prayers of mortals.
If I fail in killing Netharis, let her claim her revenge against him.
I hope they destroy one another.
Reaching up, my fingers tighten around the pendant that hangs over my heart. With a swift tug, the chain snaps as I crush the silver in my hand. The moonstone shatters, turning into a pearly dust. Launching the necklace into the beyond, I can’t be bothered to watch where it lands.
With any luck, it’ll land in the damn river.
“Little demon…”
Whirling, Ryc leans against the door. His shirt and jacket from earlier missing, his chiseled chest exposed. His hair is a tousled mess, as if he’s been pacing and tearing his hands through it. With his arms crossed over his chest, he watches my every movement with bright gold eyes.
Committing my likeness to memory, I realize. A goodbye without having to say goodbye. Can he tell I’m doing the same?
“You need to let me go,” I say. Unable to meet his gaze any longer, I stare at my bare feet.
“I will not.” His voice is firm.
“If I return now, no one will die,” I argue weakly.
It’s not the stance I want to take, but it’s the only one left to me.
“No one other than you,” he says, approaching. “Is that what you want? To return?”
“Of course not,” I laugh bitterly. “But it doesn’t matter what I want—”
“What you want will always matter,” his warm hands cup my face, lifting it to peer at me. “Nothing will ever matter as much as you. The stars can fall from the sky, the sun fade, and the realms collapse. None of it will matter as long as you’re by my side.”
I scoff, pulling my face away, ignoring my rapidly beating heart.
“I see the demonic channel has addled your mind.”
He smirks. “What we have isn’t a demonic channel, little demon.”
With a wave of my hand, darkness billows between us, producing his contract. “I release you Alaryc Witherhorn. I consider your contract fulfilled and hereby relinquish the binding of your soul in service to me.”
The contract ignites, turning to ash in a matter of seconds before it falls to the ground, pieces swept up in the breeze. A tingle runs down my spine, the demon mark vanishing from my skin.
The window in the hall of my mind slams shut, glass shattering before disappearing—the whole corridor going dark, the gold rope gone from view. There’s no more channel, no more connection between us.
So why do I feel him still?
“Ending the contract doesn’t change anything.” He gives me a soft smile. “I have failed in proving that to you, it seems.”
My heart pounds with his words. My panic, fear, and sharp, selfish regret of releasing him overshadow everything else. It turns me scathing and bitter.
“You mean proving you love me, Ryc?” I ask, spitting the words at him in an emotion-driven snarl. “Demons do not love. I cannot love.”
Ryc’s smile grows, and gods damn that handsome face.
“What we have goes beyond love,” he says, the words hitting me square in the chest.
Reaching, he grasps the back of my neck, drawing me to him, resting his forehead against mine as my hands brace against his chest.
“You are my mate. Chosen by Nektos.”
His deep voice rings clearly through my mind, stealing the breath from my lungs. I should not be able to hear him—the channel between us should have been severed with the contract now dissolved.
And hearing those words—everything and nothing makes sense.
“How is this possible?” I breathe, my wide eyes growing narrow. “You lie.”
Ryc lifts his head but does not release his grip, his other hand traveling to my waist, drawing me tightly against him.
“I would not lie about the bond,” he whispers, slowly shaking his head. “I belong to you, just as you belong to me.”
Moments of our past flash through my mind.
Our eyes meeting for the first time three centuries prior, the pull in his direction during Celesta’s ascension, his scent unfurling around me the night of my induction, seeing him again for who he really is on the rooftops in the Twilight Mire…
It feels as if floodgates have been thrown open following days of heavy rain and I’m being swept away.
I’m going to drown, dragged under by the current.
There’s nothing I can do to save myself.
And there, despite the lack of corridor, window, or obsidian wall, the gleaming gold braided thread reemerges in the vast darkness. It shines bright, glowing in the pitch black of my mind, humming with magic that sends shivers down my spine.
It had never been a demonic channel—it’s something else entirely, something that shouldn’t exist for demons.
“How long have you known?”
He studies my face, his thumb brushing against my jaw. “For lifetimes.” He brushes his lips against mine.
On instinct, my eyes close, my arms wrapping themselves around his neck, my fingers burying themselves into his hair. There’s a feather-light brush against my arms, and a swirling gust sweeps my hair away from my face. Opening my eyes, I find Ryc’s golden gaze as he pulls away and I gasp.