Chapter 16
Hardly a handful of nights had passed since Emillie had finally pulled the truth from Luce: she had, in fact, bonded to her the moment Emillie first literally ran into her while attempting to escape the mercenaries.
The confession had come not long after they had finished their second round of sex during which Luce had tied Emillie to the bed, belly-down, and edged her thrice before finally permitting her to climax.
There had been something about the complete loss of control that made Emillie ravenous for more.
And Luce had been happy to oblige after they both rested and discussed where they both stood in terms of their relationship.
In fact, they had continued exploring one another so thoroughly, neither of them left the room except for events they could not miss.
Meeting with the war council, Luce training with the other lycans, and some meals, for example.
Otherwise, Emillie dragged her lycan lover into any empty room to indulge.
Yet it was while they sat in the great hall, dining after a particularly exhausting romp, that Revelie and Phulan joined them.
Emillie had not seen either of them in two nights, and part of her felt guilty for having spent so much time between Luce’s legs instead.
Her friend, however, fought back the smirk that crept across her face at the blush that spread across Emillie’s cheeks. The mage paid it no mind whatsoever.
“Phulan has a job for us,” Revelie said by way of greeting before turning to the mage expectantly. The two had spent quite a bit of time together since Revelie’s rescue from Laeton, so Emillie could only imagine their closeness had only grown in the nights she had been…distracted.
Luce’s golden eyes slid between the two women across from them, her expression guarded. “My duty, as assigned by Azriel, is to oversee lycan training.”
With a sniff, Phulan turned to Emillie. “Then I suppose only you will be coming to Algorath with Revelie and me.”
At that, Luce stiffened. “Excuse me?”
“You just said,” Phulan explained with a small smile curling the corners of her sumptuous mouth, “that you must remain here to ensure the lycans are being trained correctly. Therefore, only Emillie has the time to spare.”
If Luce had been in her lycan form, Emillie was certain her hackles would be raised.
The woman bristled with quiet anger, and she sat a little straighter.
To save the mage from whatever sharp comment was sure to come, Emillie took her hand and asked Phulan, “Why are you going back to Algorath at all? Are you not a criminal there?”
“Actually, no.” Phulan’s smile broadened, and she winked at Luce, who bit back her own snarl of indignation. “I’ve done a little digging and have not found my name on a warrant anywhere in the city. I’m free to return home anytime!”
“You don’t need Emillie to go home.” Luce tilted her head.
Revelie, accustomed to the venomous nature of the women of the Society, did not wither as the lycan turned her accusatory glare to her. “No, but Emillie can assist her as Ariadne’s kin.”
“What does my being Ariadne’s sister have to do with anything?” Emillie’s body felt lighter than it had in some time, the potential to see Algorath a rush she had not expected. All the same, she would not agree to something she did not fully understand.
“My goal,” Phulan said, “is to gather a small army of mages to bring back and add to our numbers. Magic is invaluable against vampire soldiers who have never had to fight a mage.”
Oddly enough, that had not been what Emillie anticipated. Collecting supplies, perhaps, or speaking to others to clear the names of those who had broken free alongside Azriel. But collecting more soldiers was another thing entirely.
“Again,” Emillie said, “I do not know why my lineage has anything to do with that.”
“Ariadne’s name is being whispered amongst mages across the districts of Algorath,” Phulan said, her amethyst eyes glittering. “They’re calling her the Desmo Killer for what she did to Melia Tagh.”
From what Emillie had gathered in her conversations with her sister, Melia Tagh had more than deserved what she got. Her death was a long time coming, particularly after what she had done to Azriel during his imprisonment under her care.
“That does not sound like a name she would enjoy,” Emillie pointed out, visualizing her sister’s mortified expression if she were to ever hear it. “Who is calling her that?”
Revelie fought back her own smile. “Everyone, apparently.”
That was far from a good thing. Why in the world would her friend look so pleased by something so horrible? Emillie shook her head. “That will not look good on her as the Dhemon Queen.”
“Perhaps,” Phulan agreed, “but it sounds great to the mage underground and the prisoners who now want to fight for her.”
“What does any of this have to do with Emillie?” Luce asked.
It was Revelie who turned to the lycan with wide eyes and said in a tone that seemed to wonder how Luce could be so dense, “Because Ari cannot go to Algorath to cash in on that title, but her sister can.”
Well, Revelie certainly had taken to thinking like an outlaw quickly.
It should not have surprised Emillie, in truth.
After all, her best friend had once been the Golden Rose and thrown all her prestige and titles away to follow her own path as a seamstress, choosing her own happiness and independence over the expectations of the Society.
Why would she avoid paving a new, more extravagant road on which she could expand her own small empire?
If she needed to twist a few rules, she would do so without hesitation.
“I need a Harlow sister,” Phulan said, looking between Emillie and Luce. “Since Ariadne’s face is plastered all over the city, she can’t exactly go in there herself.”
To her credit, Luce said nothing. She grit her teeth and looked to Emillie for her response.
Two sides of the lycan warred within her.
One was the part of her who hated anything to do with any prison system and would undoubtedly want to free the prisoners herself.
The other half was the new bond that she had finally admitted to.
Keeping Emillie safe was now one of her most basic instincts.
When Emillie said nothing, Luce finally asked, “Do you want to go?”
Emillie chewed on the inside of her cheek. Algorath was a city she had always dreamed of one night visiting. Now the opportunity had fallen into her lap, and she could not waste it—even if it meant putting herself in danger.
A beat of silence passed before she finally nodded. “Absolutely.”
Revelie squealed in delight. “I cannot wait!”
“Then I am coming as well,” Luce said.
Phulan gave her a false pout. “Do you not trust me to keep her safe?”
Cheeks flushing, Luce glowered at her. “Of course I do, but—”
“No worries,” Revelie cut in. “Ariadne already insisted we would have dhemon guards as well.”
Emillie gaped at her. “You already spoke with her?”
At that, Phulan laughed. “Oh, child, this has been a plan of mine for some time now. I’ve chosen the dhemons who’ll accompany us myself.”
Two dhemons stalked up behind them, as though on cue.
The first had dhemon runes tattooed across the bridge of his nose and a quiet sadness that lingered around him like a cloud.
Emillie remembered him as one who had flown into Laeton and brought back Revelie: Lhuka.
His best friend, Gavrhil, had not returned, and he had slipped into the background due to his mourning.
The other dhemon, however, was considerably smaller than the others Emillie had grown accustomed to seeing. He stood just a touch taller than the average Caersan man, had half an ear missing, and looked between them with carefully tempered distaste.
Until his gaze landed on Revelie. Then his red eyes burned with an intensity that Emillie could instantly place.
Oh…fuck.
Her friend, however, appeared unperturbed and oblivious to the obvious hunger that seemed to emanate from him.
Indeed, Revelie turned to them and gave Lhuka a pleasant smile, which she then passed on to the other dhemon.
She did not so much as cower at the sight of the wicked-looking dhemon all but consuming her with his eyes.
“I believe you met Lhuka already,” Phulan said, taking the tattooed dhemon’s hand in hers and giving it a tight squeeze, which he returned.
Then she turned to the other and did not offer her the same embrace.
Whether this was unintentional or because she had already taken note of his distraction, Emillie could not tell.
Nonetheless, the mage continued, “And this is Jakhov. Both have been friends with Azriel, Madan, Whelan, and…” She hesitated but decided not to finish.
“For quite some time. Jakhov, this is Emillie, Luce, and Revelie.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Emillie said, directing her words to Jakhov.
The dhemon grunted, but did not look at her, his attention still clinging to the other vampire. His lips moved silently, repeating three syllables again and again.
Only then did Revelie’s cheeks flush. “A pleasure, indeed, Jakhov.”
At that, the spell seemed to break. The dhemon sucked in a breath and closed his eyes as though to savor the way she said his name.
A muscle in his jaw ticked. When he reopened his eyes, he cast his gaze to the floor and mumbled something in the dhemon language.
Beside him, Lhuka responded in a whisper before Jakhov said, this time in the common tongue, “Nice meet you. Sorry. I no speak good.”
Now Phulan patted his hand like a mother soothing a child and crooned something in the dhemon language that Emillie had no hope of deciphering.
“You are doing quite well,” Revelie insisted, then glanced at Lhuka with a silent plea in her gaze. “Far better than any of us with your language.”