30. Devastation
Devastation
ILLUSTRIOUS STORM FAE HIGH EMPEROR ALEKSANDER THE SADISTIC
Knee-deep in mud, I searched desperately for Zora, climbing along the sea-soaked shore.
Unholy terror pounded through my corrupt soul.
I gasped, heart in my throat. Storm magic swirled bright silver around me, drowning the world in a haze.
Hours ago, I’d thrown myself into the roiling ocean after Zora jumped.
Swimming with everything I had through the hurricane, I’d searched for her in the cold water to no avail.
Now I climbed through the mud, covered head to toe in filth. Fear bubbled hotly, every second without her more devastating than the last. “ZORA, WHERE ART THOU?” I bellowed as I trudged forward, throwing muck.
Dozens of tornadoes spun all along the coast. Ancient trees cracked as they uprooted, and thunderous explosions boomed. Unrestrained storm magic screamed within my blood.
Plague roared from the sky, acute devastation pounding through our bond as she flew above, breathing fire into the tornadoes.
Zora Ravenal might be the most consternating woman in all Antichthon, but she was my consternation. Mine. When I was fifteen years old, my magic had come alive, sparking on a swaying bridge with my teeth buried deep in her throat.
I had meant it when I told her, “There is no corner of Antichthon where thou could hide from me. I shall find thee every single time. Your fate is already decided.” I’d tasted her fate—our fate—that day when I licked her blood off my lips.
It was why, at twenty-one years old, I’d shaved off my dyed black hair and eyebrows and taken on the alias of my most dangerous Mage, Tarantula. Anything to get close to her.
A dozen new tornadoes touched down as Plague landed beside me with a fiery roar.
Her spewing flames joined my churning wind, setting the forest on fire.
I climbed up her golden scales, seating myself in the gilded saddle—my throne.
Her wings beat fiercely as we rose up through the air.
I half hung from her saddle, using my thighs to keep myself aloft as I scanned the ground.
Where would she go?
I yanked the reins, steering Plague toward the mountains and thicker forest. Burn it all, I said down our bond.
Plague opened her maw, fire rushing out in a steady stream of orange.
Wind exploded from my fingertips, and the flames turned silver, shooting across the forest with destructive fervor meant to flush her out.
Failure was not an option.
Minutes bled into hours, the sun setting red across the violet horizon as I leaned as far as possible off Plague’s saddle and laid siege to the lowlands. Covered in sweat, straining from magical overuse, I’d need to feed soon. We searched slowly in circles, no wood untouched.
“There!” I pointed down at where a figure moved fast through the flaming forest, a sprinting blur. Only someone with insane courage would sprint through wildfire. Why wouldn’t she stick to the shore? There is nowhere here for her to run to.
Plague roared as she banked viciously, flying low above the lilac moss-covered treetops. I removed the cuffs attached to the saddle and didn’t even think about it. I jumped from above the trees, plummeting eagerly downward.
Crack—crack—crack—crack.
Fallen branches snapped as I rose to my feet, standing among the flames, directly in her path.
“You,” Zora whispered accusingly. Squire squawked with distress on her shoulder. I shot him a glare. Even after I’ve given thee all those seeds? He cowered. Zora pointed her dirt-covered arms at me, but silver glowed faintly on her fingers and then disappeared.
I inhaled deeply. She smelled of magical exhaustion.
Unacceptable.
Trails of dried crimson dripped from her nose and ears; her eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. She needs platinum.
Zora turned and ran, sprinting away from me into the smoldering forest. Unfortunately for her, I was much faster. As gently as possible, I tackled her to the ground.
I’ve got thee now.
There was a time I would have fainted at the mere thought of touching Zora’s tender person with such liberties, but that was before I’d been locked in a room for months with her. I’d been gripped with delusions, thinking I would educate her in decorum. In the end, she had taught me.
Her lesson: romance was war.
It was a different battleground, but the fight was just as physical as hand-to-hand combat.
Deception offered a different flavor of passion, and I was always an exceptional pupil.
She’d rejected me outright, so I’d seduced her cloaked in deceit.
It was the only way to get close to her, and I’d do it again a billion times over.
The past few months with Zora were the best of my entire life.
Nothing could compare to the sweetness of watching her scowl above me, turning her little shock device, feeling powerful. She’d slapped me like she wanted me. It had been glorious.
Now she kicked out as we tussled, throwing mud, punching desperately—she’s still touching me—as Squire squawked traitorously in my face. “Stop it, little bird,” I ordered the admittedly adorable creature.
“Die, spider-bird slut!” he screeched.
“How dare thou.”
Zora rolled her eyes as I easily grabbed her wrists and brought them in front of her. Click. The platinum cuffs secured her arms, a long chain hanging from them, but most importantly, the metal would help her recover from her magical exhaustion.
Squire chirped with distress, hiding behind her muddy braid as I yanked her closer so we were heart to heart.
I’d donned the platinum-reinforced belt that was always attached to Plague’s saddle—the one I used when I captured enemies of the crown—and now I secured her chain to my belt hook, satisfaction rushing through me. I’ve got thee now, darling.
Zora bared her teeth, my fearsome warrior. “You’re still just the pompous boy I met on the bridge, a terrorist to peace who—”
“Do not taunt me with that day when thou ran away from me . . . thou ran from us.” I pulled her face closer, lost in the light brown of her honey eyes. “We both know we have progressed far past the initial courtship stages.”
Magic crackled as it swirled between us. We were lying together in the mud and Mist. I clutched her to me as the trees burned above, ash falling on us like rain.
“What are you talking about?” she said softly, sooty lashes fluttering as exhaustion leaked from her pores. She’d put on a display of power so mighty the ground had trembled. “We’re nothing.”
“Stop lying to yourself.” My stomach swooped with the falling sensation that was specific to her presence. I’d gotten a butterfly tattooed on my lower stomach the day after I met her. In her proximity, I came alive. When we were apart, I was nothing.
I reached for her, fingers shaking with desperation.
“Don’t touch me.” She dodged my caress, rejecting my gentle affection. Again.
A ripping sensation tore through my heart. Agony mounted, her dismissal unbearable. I yearned to be with her, and she felt absolutely nothing. How is it possible, after we’ve made such sweet love? It was like being ripped to shreds and burned in dragon fire for days with no respite.
My affections were unrequited.
Please, blessed storm spirit, help her see the light.
“We belong together,” I said hoarsely, hating how ruined I sounded. I was a pathetic mess for her.
Making love to her had been transcendent, life-changing, irrevocably tender, and afterward she could have stabbed me with her dagger. I’d seen the moment she’d considered it. Instead, she’d merely hit me with the hilt. It showed her intentions were pure. She cared about me. I knew it.
“Please,” I bit out.
“No.” She shook her head, jaw set stubbornly, a sadness in her eyes.
Why is she still lying to herself?
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was supposed to fall head over heels and bow at my feet.
This chemical compatibility, this overwhelming attraction, she shouldn’t have been able to fight it.
She shouldn’t care if I murdered a couple useless humans to get my way.
It didn’t make any sense. In all of history, a rejection of this magnitude had never come to pass.
Maybe it’s her heritage? Marx Ravenal was known as a Dark Storm Fae, which meant he was one of the cruelest Royal Mages who had ever lived, and among an immortal population, that was saying something.
He’s been a wanted criminal for centuries.
No one could stop Marx once his intentions were set.
He was an obsessive, dangerous man with no ethical code.
He refused to recognize my ancestral right to rule over the Draconis Empire.
Centuries ago, he’d openly declared himself an enemy of the crown.
He still waged a one-man war against us.
Now he’d defied my direct orders by kidnapping Zora’s mother.
I’d have to deal with him later. Just like I’d have to deal with the real Tarantula for putting a bounty on Zora’s head, dead or alive, when I’d specifically told him only the latter.
There would be lots of consequences dealt out once I retook my throne.
The portrait circulating of Marx holding Zora’s mother confused me.
There was a strange story there, how such a violent man had reproduced with a human.
He was, by all accounts, a morally black hedonist of the highest degree, and his daughter appeared to have inherited his stubborn temperament—just like she’d inherited his rare ability to wield water magic.
No woman has ever been so lovely.
“Let me go,” she breathed out quietly, as if hearing my thoughts, still not meeting my gaze.
“You’ve gotten it wrong.” Her chest rose and fell faster, pulse racing at the tender point beneath her jaw, practically leaping out from under her perfect bronze skin.
I could smell the raw attraction simmering in her veins.
“Then why,” I whispered, mouth lowering to hover over hers, “art thou panicking, syxzal?”
She stopped breathing. “I’m not. You misunderstand.”