Chapter 12
Delia
The Ember Vein Mining Camp, The Broken Plains
I’m too amped up to stay inside Thorne’s pavilion for more than a few hours, no matter how ridiculously luxurious it is.
I try. Honestly, I do.
The cushions are a dream—soft velvet with silken piping, plush enough to swallow me whole.
There’s a low-burning hearth that radiates not heat but some kind of comforting ambient warmth, and a haze of golden light hovers around the room like sunlight caught in honey.
I run my fingers along the polished obsidian columns, tap experimentally on one of the softly glowing alchemical lanterns to see if it’ll shock me.
It doesn’t. Small victories.
Tucked in the far corner, I find a little shelf—books.
My heart skips.
I make a beeline for them, grab the first spine I see… and frown.
The letters twist and shimmer, like fire mid-flicker.
Gorgeous.
Yes!
But totally unreadable.
Boooo!
The script shifts when I squint at it, almost like it’s aware I don’t belong.
My enthusiasm deflates like a sad balloon.
Eventually, my stomach growls loud enough to startle me. Right on cue, the entryway to the pavilion shimmers and a young man is standing there.
Tall. Slim. Eyes downcast.
He doesn’t say a word—just nods, places something on the floor, and slips away like smoke in a breeze.
What he leaves behind?
A floating table.
No, seriously. It floats.
About six inches off the ground, humming softly with golden runes along the base.
I nudge it experimentally, and it glides like butter across the polished stone floor.
I guide it over to the largest cushion in the room—yes, my cushion—and collapse into it like I belong here.
And the food?
Oh. My. God.
I dig in like a woman possessed.
There’s a dish that looks like black noodles, which I regret trying the moment the jellyfish texture hits my tongue.
Nope. Absolutely not.
I push it aside with a shudder and pretend it never happened.
But everything else?
Heaven. Or hell.
Or whatever delicious, spicy, fire-touched afterlife Nightfall believes in.
The savory dishes are an explosion of flavor—like if Indian, Thai, and Mexican food had a supernatural baby and raised it on molten spices.
Each bite sends a flush of heat through my chest, makes my lips tingle and my eyes water in the best possible way.
Smoke. Tang. Fire. Depth. Heat.
I moan around a bite of something that tastes like charred lamb marinated in dragon tears and hot pepper oil. It’s glorious.
Then there’s dessert.
And I mean DESSERT—all caps.
A slice of that caramel meringue pie I had the night before—light as air, sinfully sweet.
And something new.
Dark. Dense.
It smells like sex and chocolate and secrets.
One bite in, and I almost blush.
It’s rich, velvety fudge with hidden cherries that burst with syrupy decadence.
It doesn’t just taste good.
It flirts with me. It seduces me.
I moan again, cheeks warm. Good grief.
Can dessert make a woman come?
When I finally push the plate away, full to bursting and mildly euphoric, I make my way to the bathroom.
If you can even call it that.
It’s more like a spa married a spaceship.
The walls shimmer with dark metal laced with opalescent veins.
The toilet cleans you silently and thoroughly without ever needing to be touched.
No flush. No sound. No smell.
I don’t even want to know how it works, but I am ready to swear fealty to whoever invented it.
The soap is this luxurious foam that smells like fire lilies and spice.
Masculine. Familiar.
Thorne.
My stomach flips, even though I’m already stuffed.
And yet, I can’t sit still.
I try. I pace. I sit. I try to read another incomprehensible book.
But my skin feels too tight, my thoughts too loud.
So, I do what I know I probably shouldn’t.
I step outside.
And the world greets me like a furnace forged by gods.
The air hits first—dry and searing, heavy with ember and salt. But beneath that, something older stirs.
Something primal.
The wind tastes like smoke and secrets, and goosebumps ripple across my arms even as sweat beads at the back of my neck.
The ground is cracked and rust-red, like dried blood. The dirt shifts beneath my sandals, warm as if the whole world is exhaling heat from hidden vents.
I step carefully around jagged stones that glow faintly red, like veins of lava have kissed them from below.
I glance up—and my breath catches.
The sky is a perpetual twilight, streaked with smoldering gray clouds, tinged with the orange-red of slow-burning coals.
No sun. No stars. Just an endless bruise lit from within.
Nightfall.
Even the name feels like a warning whispered too late.
Monoliths of obsidian rise from the ground at sharp angles, their cores pulsing like molten hearts.
Far across the cracked plains, I see the silhouettes of Fire Mustangs—manes ablaze, hooves churning dust and flame.
They run wild, beautiful, terrifying—but free. And I cherish that.
Closer to camp, soldiers move in disciplined lines.
Sparring. Watching. Reinforcing.
Their eyes flick to me—but none linger.
Whether it’s Thorne’s cloak around my shoulders or his scent clinging to my skin, I don’t know.
But they don’t question my presence. They don’t approach.
They protect the line.
And none of the strange creatures beyond it cross.
I spot one near the horizon—tall, thin-limbed, with glowing eyes and antlers tipped in fire.
Others soar above, wings slicing through the air in slow, predatory sweeps.
Their cries reverberate in my chest like thunder, but they never come near.
It’s as if the very world knows I’m marked.
Demon bound. Claimed.
My gaze drifts toward the gaping mouth of the mine—black as the void, alive with heat and humming power.
Somewhere down there, Thorne is facing whatever dangers stir beneath the earth.
My heart stumbles.
He said I was here because I insisted.
But he also said he brought me because he wanted me close.
And I hope, deep in my bones, that if he had to choose between this world and coming back to me, he’d choose me—even if it’s a child’s dream, even if there’s no chance in hell he’d pick me.
The air thickens around me. Warmer. Denser. Like the earth itself holds its breath.
And suddenly, I’m aware of just how not normal this place is.
How much it demands.
How much it takes.
My esteem for Thorne grows immensely in that moment.
And I’m not afraid.
Not really.
I wrap the cloak tighter around me because even though the air is hot, beneath the cloak I feel fine.
Like it insulates me—magically conditions the air around me or something.
I take another step forward, past the edge of the pavilion’s shadow.
Because something inside me says I have to understand this world.
And I won’t do that waiting passively for Thorne to return.
Then I smell it. Something smoky and sweet.
Like spiced heat.
It’s his scent.
His presence that somehow remains in the hollow part of my mind, curling over my skin like a second cloak.
I close my eyes, breathing it in.
“Is that you?” I whisper into the wind, not expecting an answer.
But one comes.
“I am close, Shula,” his voice rumbles in my mind, just as vivid as if he were standing behind me. “You are safe. Nothing shall harm you here.”
I press a hand to my chest.
I believe him.
And that scares me more than any flame-creature ever could.
Another voice cuts into my reverie. But this one isn’t in my head.
It’s right here.
“So,” a deep voice drawls. “Need rescuing yet?”
I turn.
It’s the tall one—Alaric, I think his name is.
He’s stormy-eyed and sharp-jawed, and he is watching me with obvious skepticism.
The other, Kael, stands beside him, quiet, unreadable.
There’s an elegance to him. Regal. Cold.
As if nothing surprises him anymore. Not even me.
“Excuse me?” I blink.
Alaric shrugs.
“We can take you back. To Earth. Or wherever he broke you out of. Now. Before this gets worse.”
Kael adds, “Look, Thorne doesn’t mean to do harm, he just can’t help it. But he’s busy now. He wouldn’t even miss you for hours yet.”
“What the hell?” I stare at them, mouth open. “Why would you say any of this to me?”
“We are trying to help you, milady.”
“By offering to take me away from my mate? We-we performed a ceremony. He bit me here,” I retort, pointing to my neck.
“Shit. Did he do all this already? Didn’t just call you viyella ironically?”
“No, not ironically! There were vows and biting—and sex,” I whisper the last.
“Well, fuck, then it won’t be easy to take her back,” Kael speaks to Alaric this time. Now, I’m really pissed.
“Excuse me? Don’t talk about me like I’m not here. You know that’s creepy, right?”
Alaric’s brows lift.
“Us? We’re the creepy ones? Your viyen turns into a skeleton with flames writhing inside and out! He is called Two-Face, Destroyer!”
My brain short-circuits.
“He does what?” I blink. “That’s…wow, that’s kinda hot.”
“She’s as mad as Thorne! He found the perfect viyella after all,” Alaric mutters.
Kael coughs.
Possibly a laugh.
Possibly a sound of horror.
Alaric looks personally offended.
“Look,” Alaric begins, tone tight and eyes sharp, “whatever he told you, it’s false.
I’m the one who concocted the plan to take human females from the Earth realm—to trick the Fates, to heighten our chances of becoming Prime.
He opposed me at first. I hated him for it then. But he had no right to steal you.”
I blink at him, stunned—but only for a breath. Then the fury hits.
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you—”
“You’re not,” I cut in, sharper than I mean to, but I don’t back down. “You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already heard. Thorne hasn’t tricked me. He hasn’t lied to me.”
I glance between them. Alaric looks like I just slapped him.
Kael narrows his eyes, not hostile, just… curious. Measuring me.
“He hasn’t lied?” Kael asks, voice quieter. “Then how did he win you, milady?”
“He asked,” I say simply.
“He—he asked?” Alaric’s brows shoot up like that’s the most unthinkable answer.
I shrug, but it’s tight, defensive.
“Yeah. He asked. I said yes.”
Kael blinks slowly, processing.
“Then the bond—”
“Is real. And growing stronger by the minute, at least I think so,” I snap, then lower my voice. “Now, about this skeleton form—”
“Actually, it’s written that his true form is nigh on fifteen hands high,” Kael cuts in. “But only if the Lord of Fire receives his viyella’s boon.”
I turn toward him fully. “You mean me?”
“Yes. If your zareth is true.”
I swallow. That word again. Zareth.
It hums through me like heat lightning in my veins.
“How will he or I know?”
Kael doesn’t answer.
Alaric shifts uncomfortably.
“Ha, you don’t even know! You know, you should both tell your viyellas what you just tried to pull,” I say, stepping forward now, heart pounding. “Seriously. That’s not just uncool—it’s messed up.”
Alaric’s jaw clenches.
“Thorne did the same thing, you know. Told my Jules I was tricking her.”
“That’s because you were tricking her,” Kael mutters, not looking at him.
“Okay, wow.” I hold up a hand. “Let’s not get into who tricked who. That’s not the point. The point is, Thorne hasn’t tricked me. Not once. He told me the truth. Even when it would’ve been easier not to.”
I pause, breath catching as the wind rises, slicing across the camp like a living thing.
Hot and spicy, laced with iron and smoke and something wild beneath the surface.
They feel it too.
Both Lords still, expressions shifting.
Surprise, confusion, something close to awe flickering across their faces.
I wonder if they can sense Thorne the way I seem to. If they feel his interest flaring now, alive and rooted in my chest like a second heartbeat.
Because I do. God, I do.
And it terrifies me.
Because it means I’m not confused.
Not manipulated.
Not na?ve.
I’m choosing this.
“Look,” I say again, softer this time. “I get that your experiences with your viyellas have shaped how you see this. I appreciate your concern—really. But I assure you, I know exactly why I’m here—to help save Nightfall.”
It burns to admit out loud.
Because it makes it real.
Because it means I can’t pretend it’s just circumstance or magic or fate.
I chose to stay.
I chose him.
Even knowing what he is. What he’s capable of.
Even knowing this place might devour me piece by piece and spit out something unrecognizable.
Even though I know he could break me.
And worse—I think I’d let him.
Kael tilts his head. “So you’re aware of the cost.”
“I am.”
“And you still stay.”
“I do.”
The silence that follows is heavy. Searing.
Alaric presses his mouth into a line so thin it could cut glass.
“Well, then I hope you’re as brave as you sound, Lady Delia.”
I meet his gaze and nod once. “Me too.”
Because if I’m not—I won’t just lose myself.
I’ll lose him, too.
And I’m not sure I’d survive either.