Chapter 23 #2
Throughout her locs, Runeak had wrapped bits of gold and silver metallic links, oddly decorative. Though when Saer looked closer, he noticed she had ridged each with fine, razor-sharp spikes—as much a weapon as the rest of her.
Runeak’s irises, as black as the pupils at their center, glinted with predatory intelligence. Chilling and soulless.
She stood behind her war table, palms resting on the surface, a neutral expression on her face. Dressed in armor to match the soldiers outside, Wrath embodied the quiet before the tempest. The air around her buzzed in anticipation.
“You smell like mine.” Runeak made the observation in her low, throaty tone.
Saer would never cease to be alarmed at how murderous her teeth appeared behind full, dark lips—like she’d sooner bite someone than speak to them.
She spoke in their oldest, shared tongue, one meant more for muzzles than human mouths.
Saer offered a quick glance to either side then behind to ascertain she addressed no one else.
The rest of the guards remained outside. He stood alone with her.
He turned his gaze back upon Runeak with great care. She hadn’t moved, yet Saer knew she hunted. “Yours?”
The subtle cant of Runeak’s head to the side would speed any intelligent creature’s heart. “Yes.”
Runeak had never been one for lengthy conversations.
Clearing his throat, Saer made an effort to relax his shoulders. “You knew I was coming. You sent the extra guard for me.”
“Yes.”
“How did you know?”
A glint passed over Runeak’s eyes, and Saer swore something akin to annoyance flickered in her subtle expression. “I could smell you.”
Ah.
He nodded towards the chairs surrounding her war table and made to move towards them. “Shall we sit?”
“No.”
Saer hesitated mid-step when Runeak answered, but then strode forward anyway.
He pulled out a chair and sat, relaxing back in a posture the exact opposite of the huntress on the other side of the table.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he attempted to appear as neutral as possible. “You sensed my anger.”
He didn’t frame it as a question, and so the demoness remained staring. Of course Wrath herself picked up on his pent up thirst for revenge without difficulty. “You know what Errshek has done?” Saer asked.
“He has done many things.”
Saer’s throat tightened, but he growled the words out, “You know Neyu is dead?”
“I know you killed her.”
To save you! The argument sprinted to the tip of his tongue, but he bit down on it. What proof did he have? What reason did Runeak have to believe him?
Still, he couldn’t keep back the singular, searing truth that haunted him day after day. “If it weren’t for Errshek, she’d still be alive.”
“Perhaps.”
Saer ground his teeth together and dragged his fingers through his hair, taking a calculating risk in lowering his gaze from the demoness.
“I’m going to end him. But I need to find him.
” He somehow managed to keep from jerking his eyes up to her, even as Runeak’s feet shifted, then circumvented the table to stalk closer.
“If you’ve seen him, if you know anything about where he is or where he’s gone…
” The sentence faded when Runeak’s black boots came into view, standing directly in front of Pride.
Saer growled to the implied threat and lifted his head.
“Are you commanding me, Eldest?” Runeak asked.
“I am asking as one who seeks vengeance for a wrong committed against our kin,” Saer answered with hushed caution.
Once again, a flash sparked in Runeak’s gaze, though this one appeared interested. “Fascinating.”
An odd choice of word.
“Will you help me?”
The demoness considered.
It occurred to Saer he hadn’t seen her blink once since entering the tent.
Runeak leaned forward with precise leisure, and Saer held his ground, refusing to lean back despite the sudden uptick of his pulse.
Hands coming to rest on the arms of the chair, she brought her face close enough that their noses almost touched.
This near, he could see her ebony eyes calculating, the limitless pupils dilating amidst their textured, onyx irises.
Wrath’s nostrils flared when she breathed in.
When Saer sensed pride in others, he never would have described it as a scent. Sitting in front of Runeak at that moment, he became more and more convinced she perceived her own flavor of sin in her own way. She could truly smell his wrath.
Moreover, she seemed to enjoy it so much he grew worried she’d start rubbing her cheek against his like a cat.
“Runeakael.” He spoke the lengthened name in warning, but before he recited the last syllable, the demoness’s hand snapped up. Her fingertips hovered over Saer’s lips.
“I propose an exchange,” she said.
Pride raised a hand and wrapped it around Runeak’s wrist. She didn’t fight him, but allowed Saer to pull her fingers down and away from his face. “What are your terms?”
“Fight me.”
He couldn’t help his eyebrows lifting in surprise.
“You want to fight...me?” Not since their battle in the Hells centuries prior had the two engaged in combat with one another.
It had been Lucifer’s punishment, forcing Saer to clash with each of his kin.
Since then, it hadn’t been required or wanted.
So he thought.
“I never yielded. You were not fresh.” The way Runeak said the word ‘fresh’ sounded like she’d just sunk her teeth into a raw and bloody steak. She, of course, alluded to Saer having fought both Kalia and Errshek before facing her.
“I dropped you to the ground and you didn’t move until you were dragged away.”
“I was not done!”
The corner of Saer’s mouth twitched. Her own pride had just exploded off her in waves, heating his skin. “Now, Runeakael, you feel like mine.”
It was not the smartest thing he’d ever done, provoking the Fifth.
His seat toppled backwards, and Runeak’s boot slammed into his throat, pressing down on his windpipe before Saer could reconcile up from down. The legs of the wooden chair somehow ended up in her hands and she used it as leverage to push on his sternum with its back, holding him in place.
Unable to gasp or cough, Saer gripped Runeak’s ankle and thrust her away at the same time he rolled, trying to throw her off balance.
It succeeded only in making her step off with her usual predatory grace.
Saer shoved the chair away, propping himself up on his palms. He could do so only because she hadn’t pursued her course of action—and they both knew it.
Saer forced words past the rawness of his throat. “Fine. We fight. What’ll you give me in exchange?”
“I will reveal what I know of Errshek’s last whereabouts.”
He could truth-name command her. Though, if he did that, any fragile credibility he’d gained would be lost. Errshek’s story would solidify as truth.
Like Hells, would he allow that to happen.
She might not know anything.
Saer found, as he rose off the ground with eyes locked on Runeak’s, that he didn’t care.
“I accept.”