Chapter 66
Chapter Sixty-Six
SNOWSTROM
It was too late.
I entered the dungeons and found her, Alex, and Catherine.
There in the corner, half-hidden in shadow, was the whirling ash over marbled tile.
Swirling into vague form. At first, just a breath, an exhale from the polished stone itself, like the world sighing in anticipation. Then, slowly, reverently, the dust whirled inward, drawn by a force that was not life, but something deeper, older . . . insatiable. Sunaria had done the unthinkable.
A corporeal moan emanated from the thing.
Horrified, we were witnessing a violent birth.
“Snowstrom,” Sunaria said, “you are not welcome here.”
“This is work for the elders,” I said. “You have overstepped your mark.”
A mortal presence caused us to turn. Ingrid stood at the doorway. She had followed us down.
Ingrid entered.
She blinked into the darkness, heart hammering, mind grasping at shadows, unable to make sense of what her eyes were seeing. All at once, disbelief and terror collided. Her thoughts echoing . . . what the hell is this?
Sunaria turned away and stared back at the ash.
I followed her gaze. “What have you done?”
All eyes fixed on the corner of the room.
Slowly, reverently, dust swirled upward, drawn by a force that was not life, but something deeper, older .
. . insatiable. Bone took shape beneath the cinders, sculpted by unseen hands, each rib rising like a cathedral arch, crowned by the quiet pulse of something eternal.
Muscle coiled around that frame with elegance, flowing like molten onyx over a body too perfect for nature.
A rapid evolution of bone and flesh formed into a masculine figure. Igniting life, veins pulsated along a taut sinewy torso and surged toward outstretched limbs. Hands with refined fingers shaped, fumbling and grasping.
Facial features failed to settle.
He emerged like a god rebuking death, his body carved with the precision of an ancient Greek statue, shoulders broad and powerful. Skin kissed by moonlight that poured in through the window.
Every movement was poetry written in muscle and sin. His face so devastatingly handsome, angular and timeless.
Tousled hair the color of midnight. His gaze conveying a sensual awareness, as if tasting the air for desire rather than blood.
His focus locked on Sunaria with astonishment.
Then, he stumbled forward, jaw gaping in a silent scream. Dark eyes searching the chamber and finally he locked on Alex.
Alex froze, holding his breath.
The being collapsed as if struck by an invisible force.
We watched . . . waited . . .
Who was this man? Somehow, Orpheus—and yet not. Sorrow in his beauty that spoke of the underworld. And at the same time, Jadeon’s temperance shone through with a sacred patience.
“Fabian?” Alex whispered. “Who. . . ?”
I stared into his eyes and gave my answer.
Alex fell to his knees.