Chapter 31 #3
“Oh, I don’t believe that.” Morvenna’s grip tightened enough to make her wince.
“Who wouldn’t adore my Calla? You are always freshly washed, reeking of lavender.
It makes me wonder if you simply do not wish me to know whose scent clings to you.
” Her red eyes gleamed, tongue licking her lips.
“Because if you do have a mate, you know the rules of my Court.”
Calla’s softly glowing gaze lifted, coolly meeting Morvenna’s. “I have no eternal mate to share with you, my lady.”
At the words, Alora glanced instinctively to Hadeon.
His attention remained locked on the crowd, arms casually crossed. But his jaw was clenched so tight, veins strained in his neck.
His quiet fury was unmistakable to anyone who thought to look.
Morvenna giggled and released Calla. “Well, when you do, be sure to bring him to my bed. Go on now.”
The rigidity left Calla’s body, and she stepped back as if nothing had happened at all. Such was the extent of their command?
It’s not merely command, Rune’s voice slid into her mind. It is absolute obedience. When a Dominion speaks, those in their factions are compelled to obey.
Alora swallowed, fury and understanding twisting together in her chest.
This was what Hadeon had meant.
Loyalty without choice.
But she hadn’t seen Rune use compulsion on anyone.
I have no need to compel, he said evenly. Those who stand with me do so by choice.
There was some dignity in that.
The conversation at the Dominions table caught Alora’s attention at the mention of Argyle.
Ira sat back in his chair, antlers flickering with flame. “The raid on Calveron’s ships was invigorating. The screams reminded me of the Dark Wars.”
Nexia chuckled, swirling her goblet lazily. “One of the fae tried to cast a warding circle. His hands were shaking too badly to finish the last sigil. Pity. I quite like it when they fight back.”
“The ones who run taste sweeter,” Balgor said though a mouthful of food. “The adrenaline adds a certain spice.”
Alora’s stomach churned, losing her appetite.
Morvenna stretched like a cat with a soft moan, sighing dramatically. “I find war boring. I rather bed a mortal. But their delicate bodies are fragile, they break too quickly.” She pouted at Rune. “May I play with the mortal who ventured in here, sire? He’s pretty.”
Worry and outrage made Alora clench her teeth.
Rune took a drink of his wine. “That one belongs to my queen, Morvenna. You will need to seduce another tonight.”
She whined with a huff, crossing her arms over her bulging breasts.
“The mountain grows… stale,” Sal’vathar mused, his spider limbs twitching. “It is time we returned to true conquest.”
Rune leaned back in his chair. “What are you suggesting?”
“Spread your shadow veil as you have over Azure. Free us from this mountain so we may conquer Argyle then the rest of the world as we planned.” Sal’vathar’s eyes shifted to her. “Unless your attention is now elsewhere.”
Alora’s heart pounded, her head spinning with confusion. What is he talking about? Why would you conquer my kingdom?
Rune didn’t answer either of them for a moment, merely examining his long claws. “Far be it from you to question your king.”
“Forgive him, sire,” said Segrith mused idly.
She did not eat but play with a pile of small bones and sticks on her plate.
“We are merely … fretful. Perhaps you do not act for you know we are not meant to stay in this realm for much longer when the Gate is beginning to wake.” Those listening within closer range quieted and Segrith’s dark lips curved in the semblance of a smile. “The Nether stirs.”
Alora had not realized the structure was meant to stay a secret until she caught the slight physical reactions in Rune in his Harbingers, the flicker of surprise tightening in their expressions.
Shocked murmurs rippled across the tables.
Sal’vathar poured himself more wine. “The door to the Netherworld does not stir without cause. Perhaps it may open again.”
Alora’s pulse quickened at the thought. She had assumed it was merely a portal, a way out of the mountain. And she had wanted to step through it. To imagine it opening now outside of Argyle, she feared what it could mean.
Sal’vathar glanced at her. “Though such a matter is easily prevented.”
Rune’s eyes flamed like molten lava. The heat of his rage surged through their connection and shadows lashed through the room like spears straight for Sal’vathar.
“Sire!” Calla hissed sharply under her breath.
The sharp shadows froze an inch from Sal’vathar face.
He didn’t even flinch.
The hall went still, no one daring to move.
“Pardon if I offended you, sire,” the Lord of Envy continued politely, his gaze lingering on her markings. “I merely meant that we all know what it means.”
Rune’s body was tense beneath hers, his chest faintly rising with shallow breaths. “You know nothing.”
A heavy hush fell in the chamber, their audience carefully listening.
Alora held still, confused and alarmed by the animosity growing in the air.
The silence was broken by Balgor’s garble through a mouthful of food. “We all felt the mountain shake, sire. It was whispering. Vaelith Nocthra va’thal.”
A shocked murmur rumbled through the hall and Rune’s jaw clenched.
Alora’s breath caught.
Karag D?r had spoken when the Gate flickered. She had felt it shake, too. But Sal’vathar’s presence had distracted her focus elsewhere. After that… Rune had taken her to train. Then she had completely forgotten about it.
She looked at Rune. What does it mean?
“The Queen of Shadows arrives,” Sal’vathar answered.
His gaze slid to the walls, where the statues of the Primordials had briefly stood.
“You declared her so when first presenting her at court. Humorous if not dangerous for a mortal, yet the mountain itself acknowledged her. Perhaps the Gate knows more than we realize.”
Something cold slid through her chest, sudden and sharp.
She didn’t understand half of what they meant, but she the threat, the power barely restrained in the room. The air grew heavier with each breath. The Harbingers stood behind Rune’s chair, their eyes glowing in the gathering dark.
Rune said nothing.
One of his hounds growled low beneath the table, fangs bared. He simply stroked the creature’s head once, slow and calm.
“Sal’vathar.” Rune’s crimson eyes fixed on him, and the shadows thickened over the floors. His voice was deadly calm. “Speak of this again, and your head will serve as a centerpiece on my table at the next dinner.”
The Envy Lord bared his sharp teeth in a smile. “Of course, sire.”
Alora hardly understood their conversation, but she did sense a traitorous tone. It surprised her that Rune held restraint tonight.
By the old laws, Samhain is the one night we cannot spill blood. Rune exhaled a low breath, some of his anger withdrawing. They wouldn’t be so bold otherwise.
The tension broke when Morvenna whined to Ira, rubbing his thigh with a wicked pout. “I ache, my love.”
The large grunted, setting down his fork with a smirk. “Insatiable woman. I pleased you thrice today.”
“Oh? Do you tire of me already?” Morvenna purred, climbing onto his lap. She pressed a kiss to the glowing mark on his chest above his heart.
It was a sigil of soft gold light etched into his skin, steady and warm, its lines interwoven with careful symmetry, as if two forces had been folded together and sealed.
The way Morvenna touched it was intimate. Claiming.
An imprint, Rune supplied into her mind. The mark a male proudly wears when he has been chosen as an eternal mate.
Ira grabbed hold of Morvenna neck as he devoured her mouth in a frenzied kiss, rumbling against her mouth. “Worlds would crumble before I ever tire of your milk and honey.”
Then, to Alora’s shock and horror, Ira lifted the Lady of Lust onto his shoulders and feasted on her—right there at the table.
Alora gasped, turning her head sharply into Rune’s chest.
Not even the fae practiced such debauchery.
He chuckled, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her back.
Sex is abundant here, songbird. If we’re not fighting, we’re rutting.
And demons don’t care to keep it private, especially the succubi.
Ira and Morvenna are a mated pair. They delight in letting others watch.
She infects the air with her lust, feeding on the desire of her partners and anyone else who succumbs to it.
Already, several of Morvenna’s faction had already drawn others into the shadows, their moans and the slap of flesh joining the music.
Alora’s face burned, her thighs clenching. Rune’s body was warm and firm beneath her.
“Ah, the dessert course,” Calla mused dryly as Ira laid Morvenna across the table, dishes clattering to the floor amid her exalted cries.
Nexia had swam off with her jeweled harem, but Sal’vathar sat stiffly, his expression carved in cold disgust as he focused on his wine. Balgor tried to keep eating, though his plate jerked away from him with each of Ira’s violent thrusts.
Alora shared a look with Rune, the absurdity of it breaking her composure. They both smothered a laugh.
At a table across from them, two female demons pressed together in the candlelight, laughter soft between their mouths as they kissed without shame or secrecy.
On a cluster of throw pillows and blankets in a shadowed corner, two males lay with a female between them, hands roaming with easy familiarity, desire braided between them like silk.
Heat curled low in her belly, curiosity blooming sharp and bright.
Demons do not concern themselves with gender, Rune’s voice murmured through her thoughts, dark and amused. Only appetite.
Much like the fae.
But her smile faltered when she noticed Segrith observing her from the far end of the room, unblinking eyes in her open palms.
When dinner was over, the tables were sent away, and lively music filled the hall as it came time for the Dance of the Dead. Demons partnered with each other and specters above took forms of souls. Alora stared in awe as they waltzed through the night sky.
Deimos leaped down from the rafters and landed soundlessly beside Calla. He perched in a chair, tail flicking lazily, his glowing eyes fixed on the Dominions swaying on the floor. “Sire, I suggest we start killing one a week,” he drawled, “merely to remind them who rules now.”
“Perhaps,” Hadeon rumbled, crossing his massive arms. “But then he’d have no one left to insult him.”
“A shame,” Calla sighed, smirking.
Alora blinked between them. “That was dinner? By the Seven, what occurs at breakfast?”
“Occasionally a slaughter with a side of havoc,” Calla hummed, sharing a lingering look with Hadeon. “There’s no shortage of debauchery.”
Rune set down his goblet, exhaling softly. His crimson eyes found Alora’s, his expression easing into something almost gentle. “You did well tonight, Alora.”
She nodded, though a faint tremor fluttered through her chest. “That was certainly… interesting.”
His mouth curved in a smile. “The night is only getting started.”
Placing Alora back on her feet, Rune rose and extended his hand. She hesitated, then placed hers in his. His fingers closed around hers, cool and sure. Shadows rippled beneath their feet as he drew her toward the center of the hall.
Music swelled slow, dark, and haunting. The floor shimmered as Rune guided her in a slow turn. His hand at her back was steady, his movements fluid, commanding. She followed without thought, without breath, her body remembering what her mind could not.
Then the ground fell away.
A collective gasp swept through the court as Rune lifted her higher, shadows coiling around their feet. They danced with the souls, suspended in the air. All around them, they drifted down from the open ceiling, glowing like lanterns, swirling with the music.
The melody deepened, mournful and beautiful, and stirring longing in Alora’s chest. They ached to find peace. Her throat burned, and before she realized it, she was singing.
Softly at first, then clearer, her voice echoed through the hall like light piercing fog. The specters turned toward her, drawn to the sound. Their sorrow folded into peace as they drifted upward, dissolving into a river of stars that streamed away into the sky.
A frosted archway shimmered high among the clouds, vast and pale as winter light. Beside it stood a distant figure robed in white, no more than a silhouette against the sky. The gateway glowed as souls vanished within it, and then both arch and figure dissolved like snow.
When the last note of Alora’s song faded, the chamber went still.
Rune stared at her, shock flickering behind his crimson eyes. “You have guided them into accepting the call of Death’s Gate.”
Death’s Gate? Then the figure she saw was…
Before Alora could ask, screams ruptured below.
Demons scrambled backward from the center of the hall, panic breaking like a wave. She looked down and froze. Across the marble floor, crimson spider lilies burst from the ground, blooming like stars of fire. Their petals glittered bright, writhing as if alive.
The air thickened, trembling with magic.
They quickly drifted down, landing in the chaos.
“Rune…” she whispered as a spider lily bloomed at her feet.
“Don’t touch it,” he warned sharply, shadows stirring like a storm behind him. “These flowers are not of this realm.”
But Alora was hardly listening. Her instincts overrode sense, her hand reaching out to it.
“Alora—”
Her fingers brushed the petal.
A flash of light sparked outward, sending a shockwave through the hall, knocking demons over. Then the lilies blackened with a sigh, collapsing to ash.
Every gaze turned toward her.
Alora’s heart pounded wildly, confusion tangling in her mind. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
Something crinkled within her fist. When she opened her hand, a single folded scrap of paper rested in her palm with a torn at the edge.
The missing page from her mother’s journal.
She looked to the doors, immediately spotting Segrith standing in the threshold. The Dominion of Sloth smiled faintly, embers trailing from her robes as she drifted back into the shadows.
“Wait!” Alora called, running after her.
“Alora!” Rune reached for her, but Alora’s power flared bright, bursting from her hand and shattering his hold.
Then she bolted through the onyx doors.