Chapter 38
Everand let out a laugh of disbelief. “What do you mean wife? The two of you have been married this whole time?”
Aziel shook his head. “Newlyweds, actually.” He lifted his ungloved hand, the silver band on his ring finger shimmering in the light that flowed in through the arched windows. “But that isn’t what is important at the moment. I asked you to unhand my wife.”
The prince behind her sputtered another weak laugh.
“It’s typical, isn’t it? Two whores eloping.
Why rush into marriage? Is she pregnant?
And if she is—would you be so certain that the bastard is even yours?
I’ve heard about her, you know. She used to fuck every lice-riddled peasant in the rookeries a few years back. ”
The muscle in Aziel’s jaw twitched just a fraction, but not enough to be noticed by someone who wasn’t looking for it.
But Nymiria knew what that small, almost invisible movement truly meant.
“Perhaps you were unaware, seeing as how you were too preoccupied with treachery to our kind, but there’s something I believe I should inform you of,” he began, the echo of his footsteps loud and daunting as they echoed through the hall.
“Every single person who has ever called her a whore in front of me is no longer breathing.”
Heart pounding and palms sweating, Nymiria took that momentary pause to sink her teeth into the arm secured across her chest, her jaw clamping down so tight and quick that Everand’s reaction to the missing chunk in his arm was delayed.
He released a howl of pain, a harsh shove sending her tumbling across the floor.
Nymiria scuffled back on hands and feet, eyes flickering to every door and window to see if anyone had come.
She could feel a presence drawing closer, a something that felt familiar, yet underdeveloped.
Owen had said he would send someone to help her be rid of the runes on her and while she hoped it wasn’t Phyona, there was a twisting sensation in her gut that made her believe that the person he sent to help her was so much younger and weaker than the aspiring Rune Witch.
She chose not to panic, blinking herself out of her slight stupor. Aziel and Everand were standing face to face now. Everand was clutching at his arm, blood spilling between the gaps in his fingers. He sneered up at the God of Death, his eyes crazed.
“You think you are deserving of her?” Everand heaved out an incredulous laugh. “A bastard-born god? A man with no title? A man who was the whore to her mother for the greater part of a decade?”
Aziel rolled his eyes. “Odd, isn’t it? Fate is just full of surprises lately.
But,” he moved close enough to Everand that their chests bumped.
Aziel was unfazed, but Everand’s whole body seemed to tremble with disgust and ire.
“Perhaps it is not much of a surprise, at all. You see her as something you are able to collect and own. Not because you see her as a lesser, but because you are terrified of her. I will say that I am not a great man, if you could even truly call me one, but I am man enough to know how to care for a woman of such strength. Men like you enjoy taking that strength, the light within their eyes and squandering it.”
“And what sort of man are you, Aziel Haze?”
The god smirked. “As I said… not a good one. And an even more deplorable god. Especially for what I am about to do to you.”
It all happened so quickly that Nymiria could hardly decipher what happened.
A sharp gasp escaped her, eyes going wide when she saw Aziel standing mere centimeters from Everand, one scarred hand buried in the prince’s gut and the other gripping the knife.
With one fluid jerk, Aziel’s hand resurfaced and in its grip was Everand’s lung.
His face was an uneasy shade of green, his eyes wide as he looked down at the organ in the god’s hand.
Aziel, face void of all emotion, tossed the lung aside, not waiting a second longer before he walked to Nymiria and brought her close to his chest. Her eyes were still fixed on the horrific scene in front of her, watching as the evil man that was once her childhood friend collapsed to the ground.
His hands were coated in blood, his fingers prodding at the gaping wound on his torso as if he could stitch himself back together.
His body was trying to heal itself, the tendons and sinew contracting around the hole, a fresh bud of a new lung sprouting where the other had been ripped out.
Aziel pressed a single kiss to Nymiria’s temple and pulled away from her, a small smile gracing his lips before he turned again, his hand curled around the hilt of a blade.
But not just any blade—hers.
It was a mix of horror and relief she felt when he brought that blade down into Everand’s chest, directly into his heart.
He didn’t even fight it. It seemed too easy—not much of a fight at all.
She’d been right, it seemed. All of his bravery was a facade.
All of his cruelty was to hide the weak, terrified man underneath the evil mask he wore.
She wished there was a part of her that felt sorry for him, that she pitied the weak thing that was now drawing his last breath.
All she felt was a sharp pain in her chest, her legs giving out from underneath her at the same moment Everand’s body slumped to the puddle of blood at his feet. “Aziel—” She whimpered.
Fear. Was that fear in her voice? Why was she so scared?
A calming warmth spread over her skin, her eyes frantically searching the room, but unable to focus on one thing. She tried to breathe, but hardly had enough strength to do more than pant. Her hand fell to her chest, that aching cutting deeper until she was curling into herself.
“AZIEL!”
He turned. Finally. He immediately saw the terror on her face, her own fingers clawing at her chest, and the old woman standing behind her, her weathered and wrinkled face fixed into a sad frown. Everand’s blood was fresh on his hands, Nymiria’s knife clattering to the floor.
“I warned you.” Dieve said solemnly. “Tiegh warned you, Aziel. You cannot take a life that is not on your toll. No matter how evil, no matter how horrid, their time is their time. A life taken too soon, is one that must be paid for in double.”
His stomach felt as if it laid at his feet.
His hands trembled, his heart racing as he took that first step forward.
Aziel wasn’t sure he was the one in control of his body anymore.
He couldn’t feel the ground under his feet, nor hear the screams of his friends as they watched Nymiria’s eyes start to flutter closed.
Before she could fall to her side, Aziel’s arms slid underneath her, securing her to him.
Nymiria’s skin, once warm and pulsing with the essence of life, was now growing cold in his arms. Pain ripped through his own chest, but it was not the pain of death.
It was a pain he’d felt before, a pain he could never forget, as he’d held his dying mother with arms that were too small and too powerless to piece her back together.
His stomach churned, his shaking fingers clutching at her, pulling her so close to him that he could feel what little life was left in her slipping away.
His broken sob splintered through the silence, quickly turning into an enraged growl as he cradled her face into the crook of his shoulder. “What have you done?” His voice bellowed through the room, tears burning as they swelled in his eyes. “What the fuck have you done—who are you?” He demanded.
Trio and Desi were at his side, both of them trying and failing to bring life back into the dying woman he held. His mate. His home.
His.
His.
She was his—
“I did not do this. You were warned, Aziel. Multiple times. You knew that using your powers with selfish intent would interfere with the natural order. And… you know who I am.” Dieve said softly. “I am the Goddess of Fate.”
He didn’t want to believe it, but the words slammed into him nonetheless.
And when the smell of rot and decay filled the air, when he saw those evil and tainted roots that usually obeyed his whims break the surface of the marble-tiled floor, he kicked and squirmed away from them, using all of the strength he had to hold them back.
“It was always meant to be this way, Aziel. Perhaps it was something your mother and the gods before you failed to disclose—Death will always be the end of Life. It started with the Maiden of Laith, Anam, and her lover Mortem.”
Aziel knew the story. He knew that Mortem killed Anam, but it had been an accident. He was trying to kill the people of the village, not her. And he brought her back. He brought her back from the dead, sacrificed himself to the Otherworld as payment, forced to stay and never leave. And Teigh…
Teigh’s greed killed Greia.
Still, he brought her back.
“No.” He screamed. “No, no, no, you can’t take her from me. Haven’t we both suffered enough for you? We played the cards you dealt us, we lived the shitty lives we were handed—I never asked you for anything, Dieve. I never asked for anything. So give me this. Give me her.”
Dieve’s arthritic fingers clasped together in front of her, her frown growing infinitely deeper. “If I do that, it will only pass the pain to someone else.”
“I DON’T CARE!” He drew in ragged breaths, the hollow ache digging its way through his entire body.
Nymiria was starting to feel heavy and stiff, her cheeks losing their color.
“Please—please.” The roots were getting closer now.
Panicked, Aziel kicked away from them with what strength he had.
He dragged her alongside him, eyes flickering between Dieve and the roots that were now reaching for Nymiria’s feet.
“Don’t let all of this be for nothing, please! ”
“Do you understand what this could mean for you? You would lose everything you’ve done. You will no longer be the God of Death.”