Chapter 59
Rune
The chamber was quiet, save for the faint crackle of embers in the hearth and the rhythmic thrum of the gentlest heartbeat. Alora lay beside him, half-draped in the tattered red sheets he had torn to shreds. Her back was bare, soft in the flickering light, her hair tangled across the pillow.
She looked undone.
And entirely his.
Though she never once begged him to stop aloud, he knew she was finished before dawn broke. Now she slept to recover all he had taken from her.
The markings on his skin glowed like paths of fire.
Shadows hovered lazily around the bed, content for once.
Sated after hours of taking her. He sensed the sunrise beyond the stone, yet it no longer burned through his marrow as it once had.
If anything, he was left invigorated. As though his strength and power had not only improved but ascended.
She had fed him well.
And for the first time in a thousand years… he was sleepy.
Rune quietly chuckled to himself.
His mate had been right. Joining their bodies was the answer to satisfying his mind-numbing craving for her essence.
Alora nestled closer against him with a soft hum, her cheek pressed to his chest, skin softly glowing. He gently traced the white and red paths, seeing through them to the golden thread woven with shadow that now permanently connected her soul to his.
A heartbeat that echoed across realms.
A bond of souls finally claimed.
The thought drew a foreign feeling in his chest. So bright and overwhelming, it took him a moment to recognize it as happiness, and he immediately dreaded it.
Because it was something so easily lost.
Even with all the essence Alora had given him, it had been but a fracture of the power she held. She was a feast to Vorak.
If she was within his reach, he wouldn’t hesitate to swallow her whole.
Rune’s arm wrapped around her waist, shadows curling protectively around them like silk as he watched her sleep.
Rune had never known peace. He had known blood. Rage. Darkness. Lust so deep it hollowed him out. He had known the burn of battle and the ache of yearning but never this.
The sense of something being so right, everything else had to be wrong.
A pull throbbed at the center of his chest. He sat up straight. His markings flared red and a rumble shook deep in the bones of the mountain.
The Netherworld Gate.
Dormant for a millennium, had awakened. He could sense it now, humming at the base of the mountain.
Rune’s chest heaved with a shock breath as he looked to Alora. He gently brushed a soft strand of hair from her cheek. Somewhere between her defiance and her surrender, between the venom in her glare and the honey of her kiss, she had given him her heart.
He should be thrilled, yet unease twisted in his stomach. The opening of the Gate meant the time had come for him and his court to return to their realm.
Shaking off the thought, Rune carefully slid out from underneath Alora and got out of bed. The shadows swarmed him briefly as he summoned clothing. He didn’t want to leave, but he could already feel Alora’s hunger through the bond.
She needed food.
Quietly, he slipped out of the room and took the stairs down to the antechamber.
The fire in the hearth burned low, casting flickering gold across the empty chair beside him.
He intended to summon a servant but found covered plates already waiting on his table.
A note was tucked under Alora’s dragon bracelet with Calla’s familiar script.
Sire, I’ve taken the liberty of arranging refreshments. Do allow your mortal bride a moment to replenish her strength between spirited engagements.
Calla never missed an opportunity to tease him, but his gaze lingered on one word.
Mortal.
His claws crushed the parchment as he looked up at their bedchamber door where Alora slept, breath soft in her throat, marked by the bruises he left on her skin.
So delicate.
So human.
Rune glanced at the bracelet. He had ruled demons long enough to know how hunger worked. What was unseen was not forgotten. They could most certainly scent her power now. She was a prize, a meal for anyone who sought it.
Hiding her had kept her safe once.
Now it would only make her prey.
Rune clenched his jaw, a low snarl curling in his chest.
Only the foolish would dare, but fools were plentiful in his court. Even if they did recognize her Primordial bloodline and accepted her as queen, whispers would spread through the court the moment they noticed the Gate fully opened.
A king with something to lose was the most dangerous thing of all.
The shadows in the room had quieted, sensing the shift in him. Rune leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, the note still clenched in his fist. His eyes dropped to the false god mark now back in place.
He was not like the others.
Not like Jokull, who had given his immortality to Sunneva. Not like the old gods of the High Heavens, who bestowed eternity with a whispered vow.
Rune had no such gift to give.
Whether by age or wound, Alora could die again.
His lips parted with a shallow breath escaping at the horrid memory of holding her lifeless body. Trepidation now settled in his chest like a stone. He could protect her from enemies. He could command the night to tear the stars from the sky if they threatened her.
But time? Time was crueler than fate.
The note caught fire beneath his fist, crumbling to ash.
Alora had chosen him. Loved him for what he was.
And now, he would be asked to prove he was worthy of it. But Rune knew he wasn’t. All his existence he’d fed on his own selfishness, demolishing, conquering. Whenever he wanted, he found a way to have it.
He could give her kingdoms, wealth, even the world.
But not forever.
Rune’s heart—the damned thing—pulsated painfully in his chest.
He could take her now and steal her away into the Netherworld where eternity resided. Lock the doors of that Realm and never let her feel death.
But she would hate him for it. Because Argyle still needed her. She would never leave the Mortal Realm to suffer Vorak’s coming alone.
Inhaling a sharp breath, he summoned the Veil’s Eye, revealing the Gate chamber. The glyphs within the frame blazed red, but to his surprise, the center did not.
The Netherworld Gate was awake, yet the portal remained closed.
Before he could question it, a pale glow flickered beyond the balcony. Rune already knew who it was before he stepped through the doors of the terrace, the chill of morning brushing against his hair. And there she was, leaning against the stone rail, hair aglow with sunlight.
Sunneva.
The golden light of dawn brushed over him and he stilled, realizing it didn’t burn him.
Another gift of his bride, though he sensed that was temporary.
Rune heaved a heavy breath and joined Sunneva at balustrade, looking out at the horizon. The fog had drawn in, veiling Argyle out of sight below.
“Why are you here?” he demanded.
“Good morrow, Sunneva, could you spare me some insight into my mountain of dilemmas, please?” she sighed dramatically.
He dragged a hand down his face with a groan. “Why must you continue to appear when I am dreading what comes next?”
She smiled, eyes still on the horizon. “Perhaps because I want to make sure you don’t fail.”
He scowled. “If you’ve come to meddle—”
“No,” she said gently. “To warn.”
His eyes narrowed. “Then tell me what is wrong with my Gate.”
Sunneva faced him, robes of celestial silk billowing in the wind. At his cold stare, she glanced at sky pointedly. “The Netherworld Gate cannot fully open until the rift is mended, Rune. You will have to choose between what you want and what the world needs.”
He clenched his teeth. “I don’t give a fuck about the world.”
Sunneva’s eyes sparkled knowingly, glancing at the imprinted mark on his throat. “Oh, but you do… because she’s in your bed right now.”
He snarled.
She laughed. “Took you long enough. Though it truly was entertaining to watch you foolishly lie and helplessly yearn. You could have had her sooner if you had simply stopped hiding. Yet you continue to hide her. The court needs their queen, Rune.”
Damn her.
Damn her for saying it aloud. For speaking the truth, he wouldn’t let himself admit.
At the beginning of his creation, he thought his purpose was to defend the Heavens. Then he fell and ruled the dark to recover some semblance of the power he’d lost. But in truth, none of those things had been his purpose.
He had none.
None other than the one he chose.
Alora.
And he was terribly protective about that.
Rune bared his fangs. “Enough of these word games, Sunneva. Tell me what the point of this is.”
“And give you all the answers?” Her gaze darkened, teasing. “Where’s the fun in that?”
A savage growl rumbled in his throat.
“Have you forgotten what I told you? There is no other way to seal the rift.”
The statement rang through him like a wrong note in a sacred chord.
Rune snatched Sunneva’s throat—not to hurt, but to warn. His grip was firm, and for a breath, the air between them crackled with the tension of old flames and severed bonds.
“I think it is you who has forgotten,” he said deathly quiet. “That I can hear lies.”
Sunneva smiled at him, even with her breath cut short.
He pulled her close. “As if I couldn’t take what I needed from you, sweetling.”
Power coiled in his palm, cold and invasive, the old magic that could peel truth from bone if he wished.
White light flared from her skin.
Rune snarled in pain, flinching as a stark white burn scorched his hand. The flesh healed instantaneously, but his pride stung worse.
Sunneva tilted her head with a sly sneer. “Your touch doesn’t have any effect on me anymore, Rune. It hasn’t for a long time.”
She looked past him and her smile sharpened with delight.
Rune turned.
Alora stood at the threshold of the balcony, clutching the sheets around her. Her hair was tousled, her lips still kiss-bruised, and her eyes…
Confused.
And hurt.
“Anymore?” Alora asked, voice barely above a whisper.
His mouth parted, but no words came.
Sunneva’s gaze cut to him, a knowing look in her gaze. And he realized too late this had been her plan. She winked and vanished in a burst of frost.
Rune cursed under his breath.
“That was her, wasn’t it?” Alora asked again, her voice sharper now. “The Goddess of Death.”
Swallowing, Rune slowly turned. “Yes,” he said at last. “Her name is Sunneva.”
Alora’s jaw clenched, her eyes flashing. “Why did she come to see you?”
He opened his mouth, but words failed to provide a better answer than, “We… were friends…once.”
“I saw you with her, Rune. You called her sweetling.”
And it occurred to him then how the picture must have looked to her.
Rune winced. “We used to be… more. It was brief. A moment in time. She was merely a pawn in an old game. I swear it.”
Alora stared at him like he’d crushed her. “A pawn?” she repeated scathingly.
Shaking her head she scoffed in disgust and stormed into the antechamber.
“Songbird, wait.” Rune hastened after her, following her to the stairs. “That was a long time ago. Well, it lies in a future not yet lived. We stand in the past before it. One could argue that it has not happened yet—”
Alora whirled around, standing a few steps above him. “Did you know Sunneva was meant to be your brother’s bride?”
That was the question he hoped she wouldn’t ask.
Rune lowered his gaze, shadows rippling at his feet. “I am vile, Alora. I never hid that from you.”
A long silence dragged between them.
“Were you lovers?” she asked in a smaller voice.
He shut his eyes.
She turned away with faint scoff.
“Wait!” Rune took her wrist but let go when she hissed, snapping her small fangs. He winced, stepping back. “It was… a complicated situation, love.”
She stood with her back to him, claws clenched at her sides. “Why,” she said quietly.
Rune swallowed hard. “Because I despised my brother. I despised everything… after I lost you.”
She turned then, slowly, eyes shimmering with tears. “So, you tried to replace me?”
Guilt coiled in his gut weighed heavily in his stomach. He climbed a step, but she stepped back. Tears spilled down her cheeks. The sight carved his chest wide open.
“I must go.” She wiped her cheek, looking away. “I need a moment.”
“Alora, please look at me.”
She didn’t. She couldn’t. The pain ringing through the bond made him shake.
They had only been together one day, and he already broke her heart.
“No one could ever replace you,” Rune whispered, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. “Not in this life. Not in a thousand.”
Her brows drew together, and her palm came up to cup his wrists. Her voice broke as she said, “But you tried.”
Rune had no answer.
Alora pulled his hands off and slipped away from his touch, disappearing into the shadows like breath into wind.