Chapter 15
Ghosts from the Abyss
K aan
The sound that cuts through the peaceful night air isn't quite a scream, isn't quite a curse, but manages to combine the worst elements of both into something that makes my shadows recoil in secondhand embarrassment.
It's followed immediately by what sounds like a very small, very angry creature threatening to do anatomically impossible things to someone's reproductive organs.
"—swear by every twisted root in the Forgotten Grove, if you don't put me down this instant, I will turn your intestines into party streamers and use your skull as a planter for poison ivy!"
Banu. Of course, it's Banu.
Emir and I exchange glances across our cold campfire, and I see my own resignation reflected in his features.
In the three days since she's taken up residence in the cottage with Nesilhan, the fairy has managed to insult half my men whenever she ventures near our camp, reorganize Mira's herb storage according to some system that defies logic, and somehow convince the village cook that adding flower petals to everything constitutes "nutritional enhancement for expectant mothers. "
The fairy's nightly herb-gathering expeditions for Nesilhan's pregnancy needs have become routine, though she insists on going alone despite our warnings about creatures that hunt in darkness.
The cottage sits barely half a mile from our camp—close enough for us to hear screams or calls for help, far enough to maintain the illusion that I'm not obsessively watching over my wife every moment of every day.
"Should we—" Emir begins, already reaching for his sword, but his words cut off as another string of profanity erupts from the direction of the old oak grove, followed by a sound that makes my blood run cold.
A low, feral growl. Hungry. Male. Definitely not Banu.
We move through the trees, shadows bending to my will while Emir's own darkness coils around him in protective layers.
The sounds grow louder as we push through the undergrowth toward the old oak grove.
We finally break through into the moonlit clearing, and Emir goes rigid beside me, a snarl ripping from his throat that makes nearby trees shudder.
An ancient creature has our diminutive fairy pinned against a massive oak with one pale hand fisted in her wild hair, holding her head tilted back to expose the delicate column of her throat. His other hand grips her hip possessively, keeping her small body pressed against the rough bark.
Banu, to her credit, is not going quietly into whatever nightmare he has planned. Her legs are kicking with enough force to dent armor, her hands are clawing at his face and chest, and the string of curses pouring from her lips would make professional sailors weep with admiration.
"—mangy, bottom-feeding, corpse-fondling excuse for a?—"
"Such spirit," the creature interrupts with obvious delight, and his voice suddenly changes—becomes layered with something hypnotic and wrong. The air around him begins to shimmer with an otherworldly quality that makes my shadows recoil. "But perhaps we can find a more…harmonious arrangement."
Lord Mikail. Because of course it's fucking Mikail.
The moment I recognize him, both Emir and I move. Emir's shadows explode outward in violent torrents while mine surge forward like dark lightning.
"Stop," Emir snarls as his darkness crashes toward them, but Mikail raises his free hand, and a shimmering barrier of crimson energy springs up around him and Banu. Our shadows slam into it and recoil like they've hit solid stone. "Let go of her, Obur!"
But with his barrier protecting him from our attacks, Mikail's glamour begins to take hold of Banu. Her struggles begin to slow, her curses trailing off into confused murmurs. Her eyes lose their fierce spark and start to glaze over with an unnatural dreaminess.
"There," Mikail purrs, his voice now fully layered with that hypnotic quality that makes the air itself seem to shimmer. "Do you hear it, little blossom? The symphony of your own essence calling to mine?"
His pale hands frame her face with deceptive gentleness, tilting her head back further to expose the delicate column of her throat. The way she begins to lean into his touch, the soft sigh that escapes her lips instead of more curses, makes the situation truly disturbing.
Mikail's crimson gaze flicks to my general with obvious amusement, though he doesn't release his hold on the increasingly pliant fairy. "The loyal hound grows fangs of his own. Still guarding your gates, Kaan, but now he tastes blood."
I can see his fangs gleaming in the moonlight as he savors her scent, and there's something obscene about the way Banu's body begins to respond to his proximity—arching toward him instead of away, her breathing becoming deeper, more languid.
My shadows explode outward, attempting to crack through the Obur's protective magic, but the bastard is strong, and I’m weakened by the poison that drains my system. "Release the fairy, Mikail, or I'll turn you into a decorative wind chime made of your own bones."
Emir's shadows around him are no longer coiling—they're writhing like living things hungry for blood.
I have to bite back a laugh at the possessive fury radiating from my usually controlled general. The man who once negotiated a peace treaty while completely ignoring a dagger pressed to his throat is about to lose his composure over a fairy he's known for months.
"She smells divine," Mikail observes with delighted malice, "and I bet she tastes even better.
" His fangs extend as he presses closer to Banu's neck.
Under his glamour, she tilts her head to give him better access, a soft moan escaping her lips that makes Emir's shadows explode outward in violent torrents.
That's when Emir attacks again, this time his darkness is not filled with his usual control, but with something more raw and primal. His shadows crack through Obur’s magical protection instantly, surging forward like a living tsunami, wrapping around Mikail's throat and wrists, tearing him away from Banu with enough violence to send Obur flying backward into a pile of fallen logs.
The impact is tremendous. Wood splinters, the oak groans, and Mikail's perfect form carves a destructive path through the grove as Emir's shadows pursue him relentlessly.
When he finally lands in a heap of broken branches and scattered leaves, there's blood streaming from his mouth, and his pristine appearance is thoroughly ruined.
The moment Mikail hits the ground, his glamour shatters like glass. Banu staggers against the tree trunk, blinking rapidly as awareness floods back into her lavender eyes. The dreamy compliance is gone, replaced by her usual fiery indignation mixed with something that might be embarrassment.
"The next words out of your mouth will be your last," Emir says with the kind of deadly calm learned in killing fields. "Choose them carefully."
The deadly calm in Emir's voice sends a chill down my spine. I've heard that tone before—right before he's killed someone who threatened what he protects. Mikail had better choose his next words very carefully.
But Mikail doesn't stay down. He rises from the debris with disturbing grace, his torn coat and disheveled hair somehow making him look more dangerous rather than less.
I step forward, darkness rippling outward from where I stand, ready to finish what Emir started if the bastard so much as twitches wrong. But when Mikail speaks, his voice carries amusement alongside the pain.
"Does the shepherd know his flock bleats sweetest when the wolf circles close?" he says, wiping blood from his mouth with delicate fingers. "How delicious. The fairy now understands what manner of beast guards her nest."
The words make Emir's shadows writhe with additional fury, but they also make Banu go very still against the tree trunk.
I catch a glimpse of her face—wide lavender eyes fixed on my general with something that looks suspiciously like wonder mixed with her usual combative spirit and what might be gratitude for breaking her free of that unnatural trance.
But before the moment can develop any further, Banu shakes off the lingering effects of the glamour and immediately rounds on me with predictable indignation.
"You!" she shrieks, spinning toward me with tiny fists raised and magic crackling around her in angry sparks. "This is your fault! Your creepy mind-controlling associate nearly turned me into a willing midnight snack because of whatever twisted history you two share!"
Her fairy magic strikes me with concentrated outrage—apparently deciding I'm somehow responsible for bringing dangerous associates around. It doesn't hurt, exactly, but it does make every shadow under my command start giggling in a way that's disturbing on multiple levels.
"Well," I say with deliberate mildness, "technically, you seemed to be enjoying yourself there for a moment. Very cooperative. Almost…enthusiastic.”
"ENTHUSIASTIC?!" Banu shrieks, her voice reaching a pitch that makes nearby birds evacuate the area.
"You absolute bastard! Oh, that's rich coming from the walking nightmare who probably taught him half his creepy tricks!
What's next, are you going to suggest I asked for it because I have pretty hair? !"
"At least you would have died with dignity intact instead of screaming about party streamers and poison ivy planters. Very regal final moments, really."
The air around Mikail begins to distort, and I can smell sulfur mixing with the scent of old blood that always clings to his kind. He's preparing to retaliate, to make this personal in ways that will leave permanent scars.
But I've had enough of this philosophical violence interrupting what should have been a peaceful evening.
“Don’t even think about this Mikail!"