94. AWAKENING
I was in a nightmare; I had to be. This couldn’t be real. But as badly as I wanted to open my eyes and wake up, this was reality, and my heart was shattered into a thousand pieces.
Niall lay motionless in my arms, and I could do nothing but stare in disbelief.
Perhaps he was just fighting the poison. Maybe some time to rest would be all he needed to wake up again. But those thoughts were fleeting, and I knew better. What he had given me was all that he had left. And I had used it.
All of it.
He’d known exactly what he was doing—that he couldn’t fight the poison while I was draining the last remnants of his power. And yet he’d still used his magic and compelled me to do it.
The hole in his side showed no signs of healing. It had barely even clotted.
I hated myself. Hated that he’d compelled me. I wanted to give it all back to him—to take back what had just happened. He shouldn’t have used what he did on the battlefield. If he would have just waited . . .
A sob broke free, and I let it pour out of me. I cradled Niall’s head to my chest and squeezed my eyes shut.
I thought I would have at least another thousand years with him before the idea of ‘farewell’ ever needed to cross our minds, and that, surely, by then, we would have figured out a way for him to stay by my side.
But this? This was not in my plans.
This was agony. This was misery. I had become a goddess while my mate took his last breath.
I couldn’t accept it. I wouldn’t.
“My Lady . . .” Eathril’s voice was close by, full of shock and sadness. I sensed his presence as if he was kneeling beside me. “What can I do?” he whispered.
I had no answer. My heart was in my throat, and it was breaking into a thousand pieces all over again. When I didn’t respond, he slowly backed away, and in that moment, I’d never felt more alone.
When Niall was alive, I could feel his essence like a thread in my mind, but now, I couldn’t.
I squeezed my eyelids shut as hard as I possibly could, searching for that thread like a lost, frantic doe darting through the woods, looking for the trail.
I was desperate for a remnant, for something—anything.
There, on the other side of the stone wall that now stood like the fortified battlements of a castle in my mind, a shredded black tether lay motionless on the floor. The end was frayed where it had been severed.
The sight of it hollowed me out.
In a frenzy, I commanded my light to retrieve it.
The moment it was in my mind’s grip, I shoved my power into it.
Light wrapped around the tattered edges, and I willed them to mend.
I had no idea what I was doing, or if it was even going to make a difference, but I couldn’t go on without him.
And worse yet, I couldn’t go on knowing I didn’t use every effort to at least try to bring him back to me.
It was madness, and it was probably utterly useless, but I did it anyway, holding onto that sliver of hope that it wasn’t all for nothing.
My godly power danced along the frail tether, pushing life down the bond. I inhaled deeply, willing the strength of each breath I took to transfer to him, to breathe life into his lungs once more.
Several minutes went by . . . and nothing.
Give me a sign. Anything, I pleaded down the bond. My light wound around the tether, reaching, feeling, coaxing him back to me.
Nothing.
There was nothing I could do. The pain and hurt threatened to take me under like a flood.
Then, the sky crackled and broke above us.
A staggering shudder tore through the atmosphere, and the ground rattled to its core as a being bathed in golden light descended with a force so fierce, that all of us, even the stones around us, were lifted off the ground as gravity momentarily ceased upon his impact.
I lifted my head and beheld the god-king himself. Karios.
His dominating presence swallowed up the open space.
The golden crown that he wore atop his head left no room for doubt as to who he was.
A cloak of thick furs hung from his broad shoulders and dragged the ground behind him.
He stood tall, muscles carved in perfect form, his arms exposed beneath a black and brown leather vest that hugged his chest. Leather vambraces clasped him from wrist to elbow.
His face was harsh, yet handsome, with a sharp nose, high cheekbones, and a thick, but groomed, beard that covered his cheeks and chin.
Amber eyes churned beneath thick brows. The top half of his dark brown hair was tied back, leaving the rest to fall atop his shoulders.
He looked perhaps only ten years older than me, if I had to put an age on him in human years, but his spirit was ancient, primal. I could feel it.
When he spoke, the sound was filled with a deep, pulsing energy. The epitome of power. The rumble of storms amongst darkened clouds.
“Daughter.”
I didn’t say anything back. I couldn’t. My mate was dead in my arms, and I was numb, yet wholly attuned to places I didn’t even know could ache with the pain of loss. All I could do was stare up at the god-king and fall deeper into my despair.
His gaze shifted to Niall, his inner thoughts manifesting in his expression and tainting his features with guilt.
I looked back at my mate as well and continued rocking his body against mine, gripping the lifeless tether in my mind’s eye and tugging, over and over—waiting, wishing, wanting.
“Niall,” I sobbed.
Silence.
I took another shaky breath, a broken whisper falling from my lips like a dying prayer. “Asher.”
Then, the tether . . . it throbbed.
My heart stuttered.
The subtle hint of thrumming murmured within my chest. So faint, yet . . .
The tether throbbed again, and again, gaining strength with each pulse, as my light fed energy into the bond. Then, shadows burst forth, scattering like wild horses on an open plain. Niall’s essence and mine collided—ignited. A tangled mass of love and light and dark.
Relief rushed though me as I watched his eyelids flutter, but the moment he opened his eyes fully, I froze. His irises were churning, like swirling pits of molten gold, completely different from the honeyed glow they used to give.
He stared back at me with a strange seriousness, scanning my face as if his memories were muddy or slow to return to him.
A few seconds later . . .
“Auren,” he said quietly. His voice was startlingly smooth, with unmatched allure, and that same deep timbre that I knew and loved, but there was an edginess to it now—a dark vein of unknown origin that I could not ignore.
I touched his cheek, still trying to make sense of what was happening. Trying to convince myself that he was truly alive and unharmed.
The hole in his side had closed, leaving a white scar in its place. It was the only evidence that he had been injured. Other than that, he looked . . . perfectly renewed.
Before I could say anything, his attention shifted to something behind me. I followed his stare, turning to find Torin standing a few feet away, watching in silence.
I sat back, allowing him to rise, and when he did, he reached back for me. I took his hand, feeling the newfound grace with which he moved—the same grace I now possessed.
The moment Torin saw his eyes, she fell to her knees, her mouth parting in awe and fear, as if a ghost were standing before her. Quieter than a whisper, one word escaped her lips with a shuddered breath . . .
“Erebus.”