Chapter 25 #2
He frowned. “You must let me do this. She will not be in danger.”
The creature replied with a short prrt. A sound so perfectly dismissive it might as well have been a warning: the one in danger here would not be her.
Rune smiled, thrilled at the possibility.
If Alora was as powerful as he suspected, then the combat arena was the perfect place.
He had carved it for himself once, centuries ago, when war had still given him purpose.
Stone pillars rose like ribs around the ring, and the black sand shimmered faintly with crushed volcanic rock.
The mountain breathed through the fissures, every inhale a low tremor underfoot.
And the walls were fortified to withstand the wrath of gods.
Rune drew a steadying breath. “Yes, this place will do.”
Alora stepped beside him, her hand brushing the pommel of a sword. Not a training one. She had braided her hair up into a coronet. The tension in her shoulders was as taut as a bowstring.
“For what?” she asked, an edge of unease threading through her voice.
“To show me what you’ve learned.”
A shadow of humor flickered across her mouth, quick and unwilling. She almost smiled. Almost.
“Nervous?” Rune asked.
Alora rolled her eyes. “Why would I be nervous? You vowed to never harm me.”
Even with her air of confidence, she didn’t know how deeply he could sense her emotions. Her nerves fluttered in his chest like trapped batwings. He watched her stride for the platform, admiring the way the tight leather hugged every curve.
“Perhaps Calla has failed to keep you informed.” Alora’s blade gleamed as she drew it free. “I move nearly as swiftly as she does. Hadeon is a ruthless teacher.”
Rune’s mouth curved. “Then I expect a merciless performance.”
He reached to unfasten the clasp of his cloak, letting it fall aside. The air stirred around him, heavy with the scent of iron and old magic.
Her lips parted when he exposed his torso to the air, her gaze visually mapping the markings on his chest, before falling on the hard ridges of his abdomen. Her stare lingered like smoke on his skin.
“Before you lift that sword, stretch first,” he said. “It would be inconvenient if you rolled an ankle before I could humble you.”
Alora’s glare was immediate.
She set the sword aside and loosened her shoulders, pulling each arm across her chest tightly. Then she placed a leg on the railing, reaching for her toes, but her movements were stiff and too measured.
Rune sighed and stepped onto the platform beside her. “I cannot bear to watch this. You will tear a muscle if you do not loosen up properly.”
Alora sputtered in protest as he caught her leg and guided it upward, resting her booted foot onto his shoulder. The warmth of her skin through the thin fabric spread heat to his collarbone. Her balance faltered, and she grabbed his arm.
Rune held her gaze. “Steady.”
The word came out lower than he intended, a murmur shaped into a whisper. Her pulse beat visibly at her throat. He could feel her body’s unsteady rhythm, the wild cadence of a mortal heart that had once been silent.
“Is this necessary?” Alora gritted out, her face reddening.
Her irritation and bubbling embarrassment sparked in his chest.
“Entirely,” Rune rumbled, leaning in until they were nearly nose to nose. “Flexibility is essential, songbird. I need you loose and pliant.”
Her jaw tightened. He released her leg, and she didn’t protest when he lifted the other one onto his shoulder. Her chest rose in shallow, uneven breaths, her fingers digging into his arms. The air between them buzzed, thick with something neither dared name.
From the shadowed balcony above, Calla’s voice drifted down. “Careful, sire. Our queen may soon outmatch you.”
She leaned lazily against the balustrade, Hadeon and Deimos flanking her like carved gargoyles.
“I highly doubt that,” Rune said, his gaze never leaving Alora’s. “She can hardly lift a sword, let alone swing it.”
Anger flashed in her eyes, bright, beautiful, exactly what he wanted. He set her leg down and she immediately reached for her blade.
His shadows snatched it away before she could take it.
“This is your final test,” Rune said, the weapon spinning idly above his hand. “Defeat me, and the doors of your prison open. Lose, and they remain closed. Indefinitely.” His tone hardened with quiet mockery. “And I will keep my pretty little bird in a pretty cage.”
All hesitation melted from Alora’s face as her lip curled into a sneer he hadn’t seen before. “Agreed.”
He drew Noctharion and Alora hesitated, growing wary as shadows licked off the edge.
“No cheating,” she accused. “You will easily defeat me with that demonic thing.”
Chuckling, Rune set it aside as he planned. It was not made for sparring and would most certainly come for blood against any opponent. Hadeon tossed him a simple blade.
“A weapon is a weapon, whether born of the Abyss or carved from wood,” he said. “The blade does not decide the battle. Victory lies in the hand that wields it. Even the weakest opponent could defeat a powerful foe if they measure the instant their strike is made.”
Rune picked up her sword and offered it to her, hilt first. Their fingers brushed as she took the weapon, sending an electrical current down his arm.
“Terms?” she asked.
“Make me bleed.”
Something in the air shifted as Alora laughed. A quiet, unsettling sound that called to his blood.
She gave him a serene smile. “Thank you.”
He tilted his head, smirk faint at the corner of his mouth. “For what?”
The world narrowed, the atmosphere pulling toward her, the wind falling still.
And Alora’s voice floated to him in the quiet. “For the opportunity.”
Then she lunged.
The first strike came fast—faster than he’d thought possible.
The blade cut toward his ribs, and Rune caught it on the flat of his own weapon with a sharp clang.
Sparks scattered between them. He turned, parried, twisted.
She followed, relentless, her movements elegant and precise, each one quicker than the last.
More than mortal capability.
The wind wailed, churning around her, the ground humming beneath his feet. His grin widened as she dodged his blow, rolling across the ground and back onto her feet with swift agility.
“The magic in your blood,” Rune mused. “I can feel it waking.”
Alora’s steps jerked in surprise, confusion flickering across her face. Her thoughts flitted across his mind. Ignore his distractions.
She scowled. “I don’t need magic to beat you!”
Steel met steel. He moved like water, fluid, unhurried, while she struck like fire, furious and violent. Their blades met again and again, the rhythm so sharp it bordered on music. She ducked beneath his swing, catching his next attack. He pivoted, close enough for her breath to brush his skin.
“You are fast,” he said, voice rough with something unspoken. “Almost enough to keep up with a lower rank demon.”
Every motion was a contradiction. Attack and retreat. Order and chaos. Her heart thundered as she struggled to land a hit past his defenses, and he could feel it.
“Are you cross with me, little bird?” Rune taunted, parrying her next strike. “Worried you will lose? Maybe if you get out of your head a moment, you might nick me.”
“If you didn’t rely on your shadows, I would!” Her eyes flickered with light. I only need to get close.
“Then let me save you the trouble.”
Rune sprang forward. She spun, the tip of her sword nearly grazing his shoulder. His hand shot out, catching her wrist mid-motion. For a heartbeat they halted, blades crossed, eyes locked.
Her heartbeat stuttered beneath his hold. Shadows curled around his boots, mirroring his hunger to close the distance, to taste the defiance in her eyes. She jerked against his iron grip, flailing to break loose.
“There,” he murmured, his nose grazing her neck as he inhaled. “I am close enough to tear out your throat. Now what?”
A growl tore from her throat, and he forced himself to let go. She stumbled back, nearly falling, panting with furious breaths.
“Let’s face it,” Rune said with a bored sigh. “What can a poor, helpless girl do against a god? Against a foreign invasion? Against everything that world has thrusted upon you?”
Alora came at him with a scream.
Her movements blurred, graceful as they were vicious.
The mountain rumbled, groaning. He could feel her power now, coiled in her bones, thrumming, and surging, searching for an outlet.
She was so focused on him, she didn’t notice the flickers of light on her skin.
With every attack, he taunted her, striking closer, crowding her until she lost form and stumbled back.
Then Rune disarmed her in one smooth motion, knocking her blade from her hand.
The sword skidded across the black sand. Instead of reaching for it, Alora tackled him. A glint of metal flashed as they hit the ground. Before the knife could cut him, Rune spun her, pinning her against the sand ground beneath him. Shadows snatched the weapon away.
“Get off me!” Alora shrieked, her breath ragged. Her wide teary eyes were so full of rage.
His hand pressed lightly to her shoulder, keeping her still but not hurting her. With a claw, he pierced a small prick into her shoulder.
A drop of blood rolled down and landed on the stone.
“No,” she whimpered angrily, bucking against him. “No!”
The air crackled, the pressure in the air mounting. She needed one more push.
And he hated himself for knowing exactly where to strike.
“You lost, Alora,” Rune murmured softly as tears spilled along her temples.
“As you have lost everything else in your life. Your mother. Your father. Your home.” He swallowed, his chest tightening with his next words.
“They abandoned you when you needed them most. Cast you out without explanation, but deep in your heart, you have always known why.”
She shook her head, eyes wet, pleading for him not to say it.
Rune’s jaw locked, his throat burning with the weight of it. “Because you don’t belong.”
The words were poison on his tongue.
He felt the way it shattered something deep inside of her.
And the world detonated.
Alora screamed as white light burst out of her, blinding and wild. The air howled with it. Rune barely had time to raise a hand before the blast hit him square in the chest.
Thunder split the air as he was hurled backward, smashing into the far wall. The mountain itself shuddered, the echo roaring through the stone like an earthquake.
The Harbingers cried out somewhere in the smoke. Even the shadows recoiled, retreating into the fissures of the earth.
Smoke curled off Rune’s chest where the light had struck.
His chest was charred black, singed and burning, the edges still glowing faintly.
A single drop of blood slid down his lip before his body knitted itself back together, skin smoothing over raw muscle, the divine pull of his power stitching him whole.
Across the arena, Alora sat frozen in the sand. Her hands trembled, palms glowing from within. Veins of silver light spiraled up her arms like living vines, pulsing with each breath.
Her voice shook. “What… what did I just—”
Rune winced, grunting painfully as he pushed himself from the wall, his gaze fixed on her in wonder. He wiped the blood from his lip. It had been sometime since anyone had managed to spill it.
“Well,” Rune said, low and riveted.
But Alora’s breath came too fast, shallow and sharp. Her chest heaved as panic clawed through her, eyes wild and unfocused. “What… what is this?” she gasped. “What’s happening to me?”
The silver light still burned beneath her skin, flickering like trapped lightning. The air hissed, rising the hair on the back of his neck. A warning of another imminent blast.
She was losing control.
Rune crossed the distance between them and took Alora’s face in his hands. “Breathe for me, ra’ayati,” he murmured. “Breathe…”
She did once.
Twice.
Then he kissed her.
Alora went still, her lips trembling against his.
Her hands fell on his chest like brands of fire, but he bore the pain.
Her magic flared wildly, sunlight bursting around them in radiant arcs, weaving through shadow.
His skin blistered beneath her touch, the burn sinking deep, searing through bone and godhood alike.
Rune drank in the agony as if it were life itself. Her power flooded his senses, scorching him from the inside out until every vein sang with her light.
Slowly, the storm of her power broke. The brightness dimmed, the trembling eased. Her magic softened under his touch, folding back into her as if soothed by the darkness that should have feared it.
When she finally went limp against him, spent and silent, Rune held her close, awed by the light he found after an era without dawn. Such power she held. Unlike anything he had ever witnessed before.
Pulling back, he looked into Alora’s eyes. They flickered like lightning caught in amber. The remnants of her power danced beneath her lashes, light fracturing in delicate bursts before fading again. The blast of magic had drained her, leaving her pulse fragile and faint beneath his fingers.
“Sleep,” Rune said, his voice a low incantation, equal parts tenderness and command.
Her body softened instantly, her lashes lowering as the light dimmed from her gaze. She fell backward into his waiting shadows, rising to catch her. She floated beside him, hair drifting around her face like strands of gold on a phantom wind.
From the tunnel’s mouth, the Vareth watched him, yellow eyes unreadable. Above, Calla and the others emerged from where they had shielded themselves from Alora’s radiance, their expressions stricken.
“Are you hurt, sire?” Hadeon’s voice was low, wary.
Rune’s gaze lingered on the faint scorch marks where her power had touched his skin. “I will live,” he said evenly.
He gathered Alora in his arms and summed a portal. The air tore open, swallowing them into shadow.
When they stepped into her chambers, the mountain thrummed around them. Rune laid her upon the bed, brushing a loose curl from her damp brow. For a moment, he stared at her, at the faint glimmering of light that still pulsed beneath her skin.
Nexus leaped up onto the bed, curling beside her with a soft purr.
Rune straightened, looking up at the ceiling. “She stays here. Do not let her out. Do not let anyone in.”
Karag D?r answered with a deep, resonant hum.
When the echo faded, Rune swept out of the room and returned to the combat arena, where his Harbingers waited. They huddled on the platform, silent and still, staring at something on the ground.
At his approach, they parted. And there where a drop of Alora’s blood had fallen, grew a glowing red flower.
A Blood Bloom.
Then Rune’s hands trembled, for there was no doubt in his mind.
His bride had the power to kill him.