Chapter 44
Alora
The sky was bruised, deep purple and burnished red, though dusk was still hours away. A cold wind howled through broken branches. The terrain had changed from lush emerald forest to skeletal trees and brittle brush, bones scattered like forgotten prayers. Old bones. Old warnings.
Things had fallen quiet between them.
A mist rolled in, carrying them deeper into forgotten lands… and deeper still into one another.
Alora sat stiffly in the saddle, every heartbeat an argument. Rune’s presence became too warm against her spine and entirely too close. When the faint sound of running water reached her, she seized the reins and yanked on them hard.
Saeroth jerked to a halt with an offended snort, smoke billowing from his nostrils.
“Sorry,” she muttered, sliding down before Rune could comment. “I’m parched.”
Wobbly legs carried her toward the creek, keeping her head down. She knelt at the edge and cupped icy water in shaking hands. It cooled her throat. It did nothing for her nerves.
She splashed her face, her cheeks hot beneath her palms.
Love him…
Her fingers curled against her damp skin as if she could scrape away the thought.
Could she … love him?
The god who stole her.
The liar who adored her.
The monster who knelt for her.
To think that the fate of his court relied on the state of her heart. The gods would recognize their fated brides when they attempted to kill them, but she had truly attempted it months after they wed. So how did he know she was the one?
Because they had already met before, but why didn’t she remember him? She had no lapses in memory. Though, it seemed there was nothing magic couldn’t do.
Alora jumped out of her thoughts when Rune crouched beside her to take a drink himself, long black hair falling down his shoulders. His cloak was gone, his tunic loose and rolled up his arms. The muscle flexed beneath his smooth skin as he rose to his feet.
His eyes gleamed with quiet amusement. “You’re thinking aloud again.”
Alora scowled, though the warmth in her cheeks betrayed her. “No, I’m not.”
“I can hear the thunder in your head.” His wet fingers raked the hair out of his eyes. “Is it due to what I said?”
She couldn’t bring herself to answer.
Rune’s smirk deepened. “Ah.”
Embarrassment snapped Alora back to her feet, and she stormed onward, heading east, blush deepening at his chuckle. He took Saeroth’s reins and followed.
She whirled around, almost knocking into him. “How do you know it must be love and that it must be me?”
“There are other signs,” Rune said, watching her intently with a faint smile. “And I have witnessed the occurrence for the last six instances. My brothers had mated with many over the centuries, but their Gates only opened once they formed true bonds of love.”
Her eyes widened.
His smile widened at the look on her face. “Most of their dalliances resulted in demigod descendants like your godmother. And there are many.”
Mated…
Alora swallowed at the thought. “I never thought the gods were…”
Rune leaned in closer. “Indulgent?”
She blushed.
“Sex we thoroughly enjoyed,” he continued. “But love, that was an enigma even to us. A phenomenon of mortals we could hardly understand. We were sent here to live among them until we did by experiencing it for ourselves with the one soul who could love a god.”
“Why?” Alora asked incredulously, stumbling over her words. “Why would Elyōn use such a preposterous method? He is the God of Life. Why not simply make the brides of his sons?”
Rune chuckled at her reddening face. “Nothing is ever so simple. The concept of ‘meant to be’ is more than a right. It’s earned. Our brides would love us once they accepted us wholly, not only in their hearts but in their bodies.”
She swallowed, not able to ask aloud how mortals would willingly want to join together in that way with a terrifying, immortal being.
Rune leaned in then, voice dropping like silk onto skin. “Want obeys desire, songbird. And gods exude it naturally. Once you are so far deep into the fog of seduction, there is nothing you wouldn’t do to feel the magic of my unforgettable cock—”
He cut off with a grunt when she punched his ribs.
Rune’s laughter carried through the forest as he walked ahead. He was treating the matter like he did all things. With amusement. While ignoring how significant it truly was.
She swallowed. “What is it like?”
Rune tilted his head.
“To…” She cleared her throat. “To be… with a god, I mean.”
Perhaps foolish to ask now, when last night she had nearly found out. But if she had laid with him, would something have changed about her?
Rune’s mouth curved into a slow, feral smile.
Even the shadows stilled around them, listening.
“To lie with a god is a metamorphosis. It is taking his essence within yourself and that is…” He leaned in but she held her ground, breath trembling as she met his gaze.
“Devastating,” he rumbled. “So terrifyingly addictive you may even forget your own name.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re jesting.”
“I never jest about pleasure.” His voice slid lower, hypnotic as he stepped closer.
“Then…” Alora swallowed. “Have you lain with mortals?”
His eyes grew feral. “I have. And none were prepared for all of me.”
Heat gathered low in her stomach at the implication. She thought again of last night and the feel of him in the dark. There had been something overwhelming about the way his body pressed against hers, as though he carried more than a single form should contain.
“Can you imagine it, Alora?” His tone purred against her ear though he hadn’t moved. “Surrendering yourself to my mercy, my mouth on you, soothing everywhere you ache? Pleasing you until you beg me to stop? To be with a god is a curse in itself, for I would ruin you for any other man.”
Her heart pounded wildly, a thrum spiraling through her as she thought of his mouth, his touch, his tongue. The moment in the cottage had been mind-numbingly amazing. But would lying with him truly be world-shattering to say she would never desire another?
“Yes,” Rune rumbled, pinning her against a tree. “Once you take me, no other would ever satisfy you again.”
Alora scowled, ignoring her blush. “How can you read my thoughts without your magic?”
His grin turned wicked. “Your thoughts are all over your face.”
She tried not to squirm as more questions spun in her head.
Rune already knew. “Ask.”
She cleared her throat, holding his gaze despite the flutter in her chest. “Is …mating… different for demons?”
Rune’s mouth curved slowly.
“Calla mentioned an imprint when m-mates are chosen,” Alora stuttered, looking away. “And… other things.”
His hand came up, fingers warm and unyielding as he tipped her chin, forcing her eyes back to his. Up close, she saw the subtle shift in him. The way his pupils darkened, as though his true instinct had surfaced.
“For you to mark me,” Rune murmured, voice lowered, roughened, “would mean you claim me as yours, freely and forever. It is an intimate bond, much more carnal than the one we have now.”
Heat coiled low in her belly as his reaction rippled through the bond. Want. Possession. A sharp, answering desire he didn’t bother to mask.
“And I have no interest in sharing you with a harem, wife.” His thumb brushed beneath her jaw, a touch that lingered a heartbeat too long. “I am more than enough.”
A current swept over her.
“But if you would like to have more than one of me to please you, I would be happy to comply.”
Her eyes widened. More than one?
A sly smirk curved his mouth with dark amusement, the bond humming with every sinful memory. “I believe we are far enough away from the Ruins.”
Pushing him back a step, Alora quickly marched on. His low laugh followed her. He truly was a depraved, lustful, boorish—
She slowed to a stop on the edge of the woods. “You’re mistaken.”
The bushes rustled as Rune joined her, his expression tensing when he saw what waited below.
Khar Avalen rose in the distance, on the edge of the cliffs overlooking the roaring sea
No more than a ring of crude stone pillars like the fangs of a long-buried beast, a jagged and carved, eroded by time. At the center was a circular platform with some sort of small dome structure in the middle of it.
Clouds churned in the sky above, thick and dark, choking out all light. The ruins sat in a pocket of their own gloom. Yet what stood out weren’t the odd stone structures, but the vibrant carpet of crimson spider lilies spreading out like a shroud.
Blood Blooms.
“We’re here,” she whispered.
Rune’s warm hand slipped into hers, squeezing it gently, and some of her dread eased. Whatever waited for her down there, she wouldn’t face it alone.
Taking her waist, Rune lifted her gently and he sat her on Saeroth’s saddle before climbing up behind her.
They cantered down the hill together, mist curling through the blackened trees. The world was quiet, the atmosphere unnatural somehow, as if time itself had paused to watch them arrive.
Still.
Silent.
Heavy with the scent of decay and forgotten magic.
The ruins loomed ahead. As they drew closer, she saw they were massive slabs of stone, coated in desiccated vines and moss, the air around them humming with something ominous. The surfaces were carved with strange glyphs and cyphers, images of people kneeling to worship the moon.
It looked exactly as it had in the books she had read about Khar Avalen.
Except for one thing.
Spider lilies swayed in the breeze with a haunting beauty, emitting a scent that was both floral and metallic, like blood and burnt sugar. It made Alora dizzy.
Rune eyed them with disdain and wariness. “These blooms shouldn’t grow in the mortal plane. It’s impossible.” His voice dropped, rough with dread. “Yet they are thriving.”
They stared at the crimson flowers, glowing faintly in the dusk, clustered thick around the ruins like a warning.
“They have to be related to the Sleeping Curse,” Alora said. “The curse must have begun here.”