Chapter 37
Dreven
The silence in the cottage is heavy enough to crush a lesser god.
Dastian paces a trench into the rug, red sparks flying from his fingertips every time he turns.
Voren stands by the window, watching the unnatural stillness of the rain.
I stand perfectly still in the centre of the room, but my shadows writhe along the floorboards, agitated and seeking a target.
I hate this. I hate that she went alone. I hate that a woman in a beige coat simply removed her from my protection with a wave of a pen.
The air pressure drops suddenly. My ears pop.
“She’s back,” Dastian says, stopping mid-stride.
The space in front of the fireplace distorts. It doesn’t tear; it folds. Nyssa steps out of the distortion, with Tabitha right on her heels.
I stride forward, my need to touch her overriding my restraint. “Nyssa.”
She looks at me, and I stop.
It isn’t fear that halts me. It is recognition.
The shadows in the corners of the room detach themselves from the walls and slide toward her.
They pool around her boots, not menacing, but submissive.
She glows with a faint, terrifying luminescence that makes looking directly at her difficult.
The crown is no longer just a braided thing in her soul; I can feel its weight pressing against the atmosphere of the room.
“Dreven,” she says. Her voice sounds different. Heavier. It carries a resonance that vibrates in my chest.
“You passed,” I state, scanning her for injuries.
“I passed,” she agrees. She blinks, and the terrifying radiance dims, leaving just the woman I want to both strangle and kiss. She looks exhausted.
I reach out and grip her upper arms. She feels solid. The coldness of the trial clings to her hoodie, but beneath it, she holds a heat that my shadows shy away from.
“Are you hurt?” I demand.
“No,” she replies, looking up at me. Her amber-hazel eyes hold a stillness that was not there before. “I am whole.”
“Whole and bright,” Dastian notes, stepping closer but keeping his hands to himself for once. “You are practically radiating.”
“Shut up, Dastian,” she says, but she does not sound annoyed. She steps back, breaking my hold. I let her go. It requires effort.
Voren moves from the window. “The dead hear you now. They are quiet because they are listening.”
“Good,” Nyssa says. “I need everyone listening.” She turns to Tabitha. “The Devourer waits for a vessel. It waits for authority. I have both.”
“You intend to let it possess you?” I ask, stepping between her and the door. My shadows flare, burying the floorboards in darkness. “Absolutely not.”
“No,” she corrects, her gaze snapping to mine. It carries the weight of a command. “I intend to show it what it wants, and then I intend to crush it. It wanted a ruler. It gets an executioner.”
“Nice,” Dastian mutters.
I glare at him, then look back to Nyssa. She stands tall. My shadows retreat from her boots, acknowledging the shift in power before I do.
“We are with you,” I say.
“I know,” she replies.
“It’s retreating,” Tabitha says suddenly from the window.
“What do you mean?” I demand and stride over.
“It’s leaving.”
I stare up at the sky and see that the dark cloud is dissipating. “She’s right. It must sense that this isn’t going to be as easy as it thought.”
“Makes me feel a bit better about choosing everyone else over my sister,” Nyssa mutters.
I return to her side and pull her to me. “Only a true hero does that.”
“Fuck off,” she grumbles into my chest. “The last few minutes, hours, whatever, have been one total mind-fuck. I am totally over this whole fucking thing. I want it to end like yesterday. So we need to find out where it’s retreating to and go and kick its arse before it decides to come back and fuck with us some more. ”
“Fighting talk!” Dastian says. “I am so here for it. But how do we find it? It’s probably gone someplace that we can’t follow.”
“Maybe, or maybe it will hide in plain sight,” I say, kissing the top of Nyssa’s head. She is trembling. The power she has accepted is vibrating under her skin. But it’s more than that. Whatever this Judge put her through has left her emotionally drained and exhausted. “Tea?” I ask.
She looks up at me with a radiant smile. “Do we have time for tea?”
“We always have time for you,” I reply.
“I’ll make it,” Voren says and marches off to the kitchen.
“Does he even know how to make tea?” Nyssa asks with a small laugh.
“I made you a sandwich!” he calls from the other room.
“Yeah, tea and sandwiches are two totally different things. Tea takes more skill than slapping some ham between two slices of bread!” she calls back.
“He will manage,” I assure her, guiding her to the sofa.
She sinks into the cushions without argument.
The trembling in her hands is slight, but I feel it when I take them in mine.
Her skin is cold. I rub her knuckles, trying to bring warmth back to her.
My shadows ripple along the floorboards, anxious to wrap around her, but I hold them back. She needs space, not darkness.
Dastian stops pacing and drops into the armchair opposite us. He watches Nyssa with a frown. “It bothers me,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the window. “That it just left.”
“It is hunger. And hunger is patient,” Tabitha states, standing near the door with her hands clasped.
“Great,” Nyssa mutters, keeping her eyes closed. “Just what I wanted to hear. A patient, stalker void monster.”
I squeeze her hand. “We will track it. My shadows can cover ground that we cannot.”
“And the wraiths,” Voren says. He carries a tray with four mugs and a packet of biscuits. “The dead are everywhere. They will see where it settles.”
He places the tray on the coffee table, and Nyssa inspects it.
“That actually looks pretty good,” she says, picking up a mug.
“Told you,” he says with a soft smile.
She brings the mug to her lips and drinks.
I watch the tension in her jaw ease. The heat from the ceramic must feel good against her cold skin.
She looks small on the sofa, enveloped in her hoodie, but the power she radiates is undeniable.
It hums in the air, a constant vibration against my shadows.
Dastian picks up a biscuit, but he doesn’t eat it. He just turns it over and over in his hand. “The quiet is worse than the noise. I feel the static building.”
“Let it build,” Nyssa says. She sets the mug down on the table. “We use it.”
“How?” I ask.
“We lure him,” she states. “If he wants me, he can come and get me. But on my terms.”
I don’t like this plan. It puts her directly in the line of fire.
“You need rest first,” Voren says. He sits on the edge of the sofa near her feet.
“I’m fine,” she argues, though her eyelids droop. She jolts herself awake but then sighs. “One night. Then we end this. Assuming it stays away.”
“Agreed,” I say.
“Where is Aethel?” she asks, cautiously as she rises.
“Voren put her on ice,” Dastian says. “She is in the crypt.”
“In the crypt where the fissure to the Pantheon realm is?” she asks.
“The very same.”
“Can she get back to the Pantheon?”
“No,” Voren says. “It won’t allow her to pass.”
She nods and walks off down the hall. I let her go, even though instinct is screaming at me not to.
“Was she okay?” I ask Tabitha.
She looks at me with that maddeningly neutral expression Order types prefer. “She did what was necessary. The Judge does not deal in comfort, Dreven. It deals in absolutes.”
“That is not an answer,” I growl. My shadows coil around my ankles, agitated. I want to wrap them around the witch’s throat until she gives me the details I need, but Nyssa chose her. Nyssa trusts her. I force my darkness to settle.
“She faced a version of herself that offered an easy way out,” Tabitha whispers, her gaze flickering to the hallway where Nyssa disappeared. “She rejected it. The emotional toll of rejecting a life of peace for… this…” She gestures vaguely at the room, at us. “It is significant.”
“She chose us?”
“She chose duty,” Tabitha corrects. “But yes. You were part of the package.”
I look at the empty hallway. My chest feels tight. She walked away from peace to stand in the rain with monsters. It makes me want to destroy the world just to give her five minutes of silence.
“She needs sleep,” Voren says, standing up. “Real sleep. Not just passing out from exhaustion.”
“I will watch her,” I say. It is not a request.
Voren nods. “We all will.”
“Leave us,” I instruct the witch.
Tabitha hesitates but then nods. “Fine. But don’t make a move on that thing without me.”
“Of course,” I say.
Tabitha leaves through the front door, closing it quietly behind her.
“Is she gone?” Nyssa’s voice is soft from the hallway.
“Yes,” I say, turning to her.
“Then come here. All of you. I don’t need sleep. I just need you.”
I’m there in three strides, sweeping her off her feet and carrying her to the bed. She is already naked, and I want to worship her. I place her down gently and part her legs. Trailing my hands back up, she arches into my touch.
“I thought I might lose you,” I confess. “When that Judge took you—”
She sits up and silences me with a kiss that tastes like power and determination. “You didn’t lose me. You won’t lose me.”
“Promise?” Dastian asks as he and Voren join us.
“I promise. Now stop talking and make me forget about all of this for five minutes.”
“Five minutes?” I scoff, making her giggle.
I trail kisses from her mouth all the way down to her nipples. I circle one hardened peak with my tongue, feeling her body respond, her breath catching in short, sharp bursts. She threads her fingers through my hair, pulling just hard enough to send a jolt straight to my core.
“You’re ours,” I murmur against her skin, trailing my mouth lower, across the flat plane of her stomach. Her muscles tense under my lips, and she arches up again, seeking more. I part her thighs wider, exposing her completely. She’s already wet, and the sight makes my control slip just a fraction.
Voren captures her mouth in a deep kiss, swallowing her soft moan as his fingers find her nipple, pinching and twisting. Dastian crawls over the bed, taking her other nipple into his mouth.
I dip my head between her thighs, my tongue flicking out to tease her clit.
She gasps, her hips bucking up to meet me, and I pin her down with one hand on her pelvis, holding her steady.
Voren breaks the kiss to watch, his pale blue eyes darkening with hunger as he traces patterns on her neck with his lips.
“More,” she demands, her voice breathy but commanding.
It stirs something primal in me, a need to both submit and claim her completely.
I increase the pressure, lapping at her, feeling her pulse against my mouth. Her breath comes faster, ragged, the tension coiling tight in her body.
Voren lifts his head, his hand cupping her face to turn it toward him. “Let go,” he says, his voice a quiet command. He kisses her again, deep and consuming, while I work her relentlessly.
She shatters with a cry that’s muffled against Voren’s lips, her body convulsing, her clit throbbing under my tongue. I don’t stop until she’s trembling from the aftershocks, her hands pushing at my head weakly.