“Do you want to return to the Netherworld?”
“It is not my choice, though for a time I had despised the thought.”
Alora quieted, sensing this was another rare glimpse into his past.
“When my brothers and I came to this Realm, it was to remake what the Primordials had destroyed,” Rune said, his gaze growing distant with memory. “We filled it with life anddeath, with the sun and the moon, with the dark and with light. It took several millions of years before our task was complete. Thousands more as we watched humans thrive into the First Age.”
He had already mentioned that his brothers returned to the Heavens.
How long had he been alone, waiting for his turn?
“Why did your Gate remain closed?” she asked.
Rune was quiet for a long time then he said stoically, “I had assumed it was punishment. My father was not too pleased with me the last time we spoke.”
She blinked, taken aback at the thought. “Your father?”
“Elyon.”
The air left her lungs briefly, her mind reeling. Of course. He was the creator of the new gods, and thus, their father.
“My brothers were not bound to the dark as I was. An injustice I personally reviled. However, we soon realized our Gates would open once we found our fated brides.” Rune smirked, leaning down to murmur in her ear. “The sign indicated by when they attempted to take our immortal lives. A cosmic jest, I suppose.”
Alora flushed, inwardly grimacing as she recalled stabbing him through the heart. But this answer another of her lingering questions. He chose her as his bride because he had been waiting all this time to go home.
Alora patted his hand resting on her waist. “Well, you have your bride now, Rune. What must I do to help you open your Gate?”
The Netherworld was where they belonged. It was all the demons wanted.
But instead of looking pleased, Rune glanced away.
“That may be impossible,” he said, words nearly lost to the breeze.
She frowned. “Why?”
He straightened in the saddle, and the bond went utterly still.
“Because for it to open… you would need to love me first.”
CHAPTER 44
Alora
The sky was bruised, deep purple and burnished red, though dusk was still hours away. A cold wind howled through broken branches. The terrain had changed from lush emerald forest to skeletal trees and brittle brush, bones scattered like forgotten prayers. Old bones. Old warnings.
Things had fallen quiet between them.
A mist rolled in, carrying them deeper into forgotten lands… and deeper still into one another.
Alora sat stiffly in the saddle, every heartbeat an argument. Rune’s presence became too warm against her spine and entirely too close. When the faint sound of running water reached her, she seized the reins and yanked on themhard.
Saeroth jerked to a halt with an offended snort, smoke billowing from his nostrils.
“Sorry,” she muttered, sliding down before Rune could comment. “I’m parched.”
Wobbly legs carried her toward the creek, keeping her head down. She knelt at the edge and cupped icy water in shaking hands. It cooled her throat. It did nothing for her nerves.
She splashed her face, her cheeks hot beneath her palms.
