What Lies Within Blood & Heirs (Promises of the Marked #2)

Chapter 1

D arkness had never felt like death, never felt so infernally cruel. Recoiling, then gathering, it was a bitter reminder of the essence that lingered within.

Pulling forth a short memory, her insides ached at the diminishing, wintery touch it left behind on her skin. Where darkness once provided a blanket of comfort, now it danced with unbearable longing. Unknowing if it would drift away for good or bring him back.

He had to come back.

Garrik had been gone too long.

She knew—the darkness whorling inside the forest knew—something wasn’t right.

‘Make no mistake, my darling, there is no reality in which I would not return to you.’

Alora brushed her fingertips across her lips for the tenth time that minute, mindlessly tracing the soft skin where her High Prince’s lips had been—where she still wanted them to be—hoping she wouldn’t have to commit that lingering remnant to only a memory.

That last kiss had been different. A dangerous promise of what could be. Of what they could have.

Dangerous . It was the perfect word. Of everything she’d survived, for everything that chased those with magic, for those who would see her slain for the death mark on her arm…

Out of everything lurking in the sunlight, ready to strike them down for treason, a kiss was the biggest threat?

‘No matter what you hear, do not come for me.’ Garrik’s voice…

It needed to stop. The picture of him leaning against a tree, smiling at her. It needed to fade away.

Alora’s feet scraped along the same route, again and again.

Was it possible to bore a trench in the dirt she paced? By the position of the moon himself, Garrik had been gone for three hours. The deal should’ve been done by now. Still, she couldn’t abandon the area where she’d last seen him—last felt him.

That seemingly endless tree line had become more of a merciless taunt. With each burdened pass outside the beaming radiance of the meadow, her shadow stretched beyond the spectrum of crystalline colors and merged with darkness. And each time she watched it shift, she willed Garrik’s form to finally escape the dried-up oaks and pines.

And each time, her heart cleaved further in two at his absence.

How could she have allowed him to convince her to stay behind?

This is stupid.

Alora’s palm squeezed the pearlsea flower to the point the stem threatened to snap. Trembling a breath, she rubbed her thumb over the rubbery rod, sinking her nail into it until a crescent wound formed. She hadn’t let go of it and vowed not to until he returned.

Would she be holding it forever?

With a frustrated sigh, Alora marched to the tree Garrik had leaned on and spoke the tale of Kerimkhar—of how Mercy and Destiny collided.

Once, tormented and dying souls were granted peace, but now the only sufficient payment for such privilege was misery and pain. There was no other path, and bargains left faeries with nothing but anguish, not even a soul to call their own.

Stopping mere inches from the darkness, Alora felt tempted to sink her shoulder into the bark. If she tried hard enough, she wondered if she would smell his leather and metal scent lingering there?

I hate you, she thought, hoping he could hear her. I hate you for asking me to stay. Hated herself for agreeing.

Her eyebrows pinched, forming a hard line between them as she squinted. Still, nothing moved in the darkness.

So, again and again, she paced the same line, wearing thin what little grass remained. Again and again, she turned to watch her shadow trail against every branch and fallen, dried-up twig.

Whatever willed her to stop and suffer the few steps toward the darkness was a cruel thing indeed. As she braced herself, palms on two different trees, her boot prepared to invade the shadows.

Then the tip ventured to cross the threshold. Hovering. Hesitant.

No shield. Alora’s mouth twisted, and her boot toyed with the darkness, much like a cat playing with vermin. If you didn’t want me to follow, then why didn’t you ? —

Every drop of blood in her body boiled with fire as the serenity of the meadow burst with sonic hissing and thunderous roars.

She had heard those before. The same ones had accompanied burning flames in Alynthia, and now, they rumbled in front of her, from somewhere deep inside the forest.

Her boot wedged fully into the dirt—into the shadows—daring her to run.

It roared again, the sound like an injured animal defending its life.

‘No matter what you hear, do not come for me.’

Alora growled out a frustrated snarl as white embers lit against the bark, sparks crackling around her fingertips. Shards of her light cast intense rays from between her fingers as tendrils of smoke danced off the singed wood.

She was here , and he was in there —being ripped to shreds for all she knew.

Alora stole another step, and Garrik’s voice repeated, ‘No matter what you hear, do not come for me.’

Static energy surged through her body, and then air slammed into her like a solid wave. If she hadn’t been gripping the trees, it would’ve knocked Alora onto her back to stare up at the stars.

Mouth tasting of metal, the air charged and thrumming, her desperation stared toward the origin of the violent disturbance.

Winged creatures stormed from the shadows, escaping something vicious—something she knew she had felt only the mild aftershock of.

She threw her arms over her face as the crackling of hundreds of timbers vibrated and resounded from deep within the foliage. The sound like an avalanche that barreled into the trees and left them wiped completely bare.

Only one High Fae she knew possessed the power to level an entire forest by air alone.

And if Garrik had used a shield, then something was very, very wrong.

The air fell quiet.

Until the beast thundered its wounded, sonic roar again. Followed by a male’s guttural battle cry.

“ Starsdamnit ,” she breathed. “Have I ever listened to you before?”

And then …

She was running.