He shakes his head. “No. There were three: Everlea, Oryndhr, and Rothdar. When those who served Fero in Oryndhr and Rothdar leaned toward arcane arts for their master, corpus magi used necromancy to reanimate soldiers with death magic, to summon soul-eaters. The rot was rapacious and everywhere.” Wide-eyed, I stare as he goes on. “Necromancy is forbidden because of the cost to a magi’s soul, but they did not care. Fero promised them amr’ita. Immortality. When Fero was finally beaten and banished by his brother, Saru used enormous power to rid Rothdar and Oryndhr of the rot, which put him into god-sleep. He could not save Rothdar.”
I exhale. “And the curse on Oryndhr?”
“Before he slept, he stripped the magi of your realm of magic and ever having akasha. Your people were simply not responsible enough to wield the gods’ power. Since then, instead of begging forgiveness and proving themselves worthy, your sovereigns have chosen to serve the idols of men: wealth and power.” He prowls toward me, those surging ribbons of shadow surrounding him growing wilder with each step. “Tell me, Suraya, are you here to unearth my weaknesses? To unleash my curse?”
I frown. What curse?
I open my mouth, but the king is almost on top of me... a seething, powerful beast of a man, intimidating me with his size alone. Caging me between his arms on either side of my head, he bends to my neck, his eyes flashing to gold. He inhales deeply. To my horror, my skin shivers, and something dark clenches in my core. “I smell him on you, you know,” he whispers.
I dare not breathe, his tantalizing smoke-and-oud scent all around me and toying with my senses. “W-who?”
“The god of death,” he murmurs. “His essence.” His voice lowers to an inaudible tenor that I barely hear as a gloved palm snakes up my arm to encircle my throat. “He tried to steal what’s mine.”
The air in my lungs hitches as I go still. All I’d caught was the possessive growl on the last word that sounded likemine,but I can’t even begin to decipher if I’ve even heard him correctly, as the sheer impossibility of being possessed by a dead god returns with a vengeance. Stars above, was thatreal? My breath shortens to panicked pants as I clumsily try to cobble together an explanation that makes rational sense.
Gods don’t try to occupy human bodies, do they?
“But you’re not human, are you?” the king murmurs, his fingers like manacles around my neck, not squeezing but inescapable.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t go in my head.” My skin feels like it’s on fire from where he’s touching me, long fingers collaring my throat, conflicting feelings flooding my body... desire, disgust, need, horror. I keep my hands fisted firmly in the sheets lest they rise up and wind in his shirt.
“You’re shouting your thoughts, Starbright.”
My lungs tighten and tighten with unbearable pressure as he hovers over me. His long silver hair falls in a shimmering curtain on either side of us, his scent and shadows everywhere. My core goes molten when he lodges a thick thigh between my parted knees and spreads them, my skirts accommodating him all too easily while he shifts closer. The position is highly erotic, and I can’t begin to imagine the picture we make. The huge, commanding king looming over his captive, wedged in between her legs, one hand at her throat, the other kneading her hip.
Senses overcome, I want to writhe, to hook my ankles over his legs and drag him down to the heart of me. His eyes rake mine, and they’re not so cold now. No, they’re burning with pure want and possession that should make me want to run for my life, but all I want to do is submit. Iwantto drown in him, lose myself in the wild current of lust raging between us.
The trapped magic inside of me sings as if it can feel his shadows sifting through my hair and caressing swaths of my bare skin. His lips are inches away. If I push up, I could meet them. But I don’t have to. Ever so slowly, he lowers his torso and slides the tip of his nose against mine. The touch is so tender and unexpected I can’t even frame a coherent thought. We share breaths, the moment so intimate, so intense, that we’re both trembling.
“Pátni,” he says softly, reverently.
“What does that mean?” I exhale and lift a hand to touch his jaw when he doesn’t answer me, only holds his forehead to mine. “Darrius?”
It’s the first time I’ve ever used his name. His gaze goes wide, colliding with mine in shock as if the sound of it is something he never thought he’d hear, and then his eyelids slam tightly closed. When they reopen, it’s like watching the spirit leave someone.
His irises are an endless black, reflecting the abyss I’d only had glimpses of before—a swirling darkness that rises with predatory interest. His lips part. My heart flinches, bracing for something awful, because I know deep down that whatever he says next will be lethal. Ifeelit like a change in the wind.
“It means you make me fucking weak.”
The snarled words punch through my soul. I freeze, my longing forgotten. And yet, his eyes betray his mouth, torment in them as if he’s torn between two separate beings, ever the dichotomy of heat and ice, softness and stone.
Man and monster.
I reach up to grasp his wrist at my neck, my eyes stinging with hurt and blazing, mostly with fury at myself for being sucked into whateverthisis.
“Then release me,” I bite out.
“By the gods’ mercy, Icannot.”
The king shoves himself off me so forcefully, I feel the wind against my skin as his shadows coalesce, and then he’s standing near the window again, shoulders heaving. I’m cold without the heat of him above me, my thoughts whirling with confusion, but I refuse to be a victim or a pawn in some game I cannot understand.
“Can’t or won’t?” I ask.
A muscle flexes in his cheek. “I’m already damned,” he mutters, scrubbing a palm over his face. Bracing against the windowsill with one hand, he hangs his head and hits his chest. “Because he won’t let me do what I need to do.”
He?I frown, watching him as he scours harder at his ribs as if there’s something there he can’t vanquish. Sands, is the king well?
“He won’t let you do what?” I press carefully.
