They grew too impatient.
Just like I am now, staring at her. Green eyes shift to look at me every few movements. The bond is saying Dove is concerned about what I will do. Whether she made the right decision, bonding with me.
It was her only choice.
She will submit to me.
I don’t want to see her on her knees. No. I want to see her beside me. My equal in every way—another fantasy I have not been able to shake. My Dove in all her fiery glory.
I’m going to make her see that she is mine.
The fae and the wolf can stick around. I know they make her happy. She will see my obsession with her is endless. We will make our own world together, where we will live for eternity.
Stepping away from the others,she walks over to me, her eyes not leaving mine. Dove has seen my soul, and her eyes are calling to see it again.
My wings flap restlessly behind me.She will look so beautiful with wings of her own.
Tapping into her thoughts, I hear her loud and clear. Dove is wondering what I’m thinking. My lips quirk. She is the majority of my thoughts. I’ve blocked most of myself from her, just drip-feeding her bits and pieces through the bond. I feel everything from her, though, and I want it all.
Iwanther.
“They have the basics. We might as well start working through it together as a group and see what happens. Unless there’s anything special we need to do?” she asks.
“They will need to spill a drop of blood while they sing.” I flex my hand out before us, forming a silver dagger out of thin air, sharp enough to cut through skin. My one party trick on this island is being able to create objects from my mind—clothing, furniture, weapons. They’ve only come in handy over the last several turns after Dove stepped on my island.
I will also need to shed a drop of blood. Only Gods can hurt other Gods, so I will be ripping into my flesh.
Handing the dagger over to Dove, she relays the information to each person in our circle.
“Stand inside the circle, Pet,”I tell her throughthe bond.
“Why? You don’t need me for this. I’m not one of your God creations.”
“Yes, but the others will need you to correct them if they mess up the words, and having you stand in the centre won’t affect the magic.”
She pouts, her faultless lips bowing. Dove doesn’t want to be the centre of attention.I will make her.This is just practice for when our own creations are bowing at her feet.
I don’t take no for an answer, sending my insistence down the threads of our bond.
“Okay,” she huffs, moving into the centre of our small circle. Gideon stands off to the side with Saff and Oro, watching on expectantly, not making a sound.
My creations know how important this moment is to me. The great God Wars took so much from all of us. They were the catalyst for my imprisonment and the deaths of their mates.
I don’t expect this ceremony to be anything more than a song, a simple drop of blood and my power returning. Once my full force returns, I will know it worked. There is a lingering strand of doubt in my thoughts. Oona told me centuries past this was the way to get me off the island, however, truth was never a specialty of the Gods.
What if it was all a lie?
What if there is no way off this island?
I focus on Dove, my strength hidden in mortal form, the scar on her neck a staunch reminder that this is not the worst Oona could do to me. Losingherwould be the worst thing. Without Dove, I would burn the world down. There would be no reason for me to fraternise with any of the creations of the forgotten lands. Even my beasts have forsaken me.
Dove starts singing, her voice a lulling beauty that draws me in. The others begin to move with the sounds, a strange mix of pitches pouring over the black sand underfoot. I join in last, my deeper baritone moving effortlessly with my bonded’s.The fae is a lilting masculine that fits effortlessly with our sound.The realisation is slightly frustrating. Both Calypso and Moyrie sing in their native tongues. The magic should see through language barriers, just as a God can.
The dagger is passed around while we continue our song. Pricks are made on fingers, blood squeezed out, falling on the ashy ground below. I place my wrist in my mouth and rip, the only way I will get any of the black inside me to ooze out. Dove flinches, feeling what I’ve done through the bond. Only a drop of blood comes free, just enough to hit the ground below, and the slight cut is healed again.
No dagger or sword could do that—only the hands of a God.
The song stops.
