The way he spoke my name should have been considered part of the unholy trinity of sins.
The Issaraeth drifted, his boots whispering over the grass. “Come back with me before you’re missed. If you’re caught out…I’m not sure that even I can protect you.”
I fell deeper into his orbit, unable to help myself. “Then don’t. You don’t owe me anything,” I replied, but the bite was absent from my tone.
“You are my mate. I will do whatever it takes to keep yousafe. Including protecting you from your own foolish mistakes.” He said it like he knew the taste of that failure already.
He closed the space between us, reaching for my mud-soaked hair and tucking it behind my ear. I shivered at the gentle touch.
“Including marrying Dasha. Even if the thought of doing so kills me. So long as Iaoth’s wrath does not turn on you, I will do anything.”
Hot salt seared the back of my nose. I blinked, willing the tears not to fall. “I hate you.”
“I know.”
The words settled like the ashy remnants of what we used to be.
He clasped my hands in his. I didn’t move. I loathed that part of me felt safer with him this close.
“There is so much more I wish to say. But we don’t have time.” In one smooth motion, he captured me in his arms. A gasp slipped out of me. White banded my injured leg, supporting it as his massive feathered wings sprouted from his back.
“Heraphia,” he called into the shadows.
My best friend appeared a moment later, eyeing my mate with a healthy dose of wariness. She frowned when she noted how he held me. “If you hurt her like that again, I’ll do more than break your finger.”
Some silent understanding passed between them, before finally the Issaraeth said, “Understood.”
He waited until Heraphia was airborne before guiding the three of us back toward Thalvireth.
Back toward a silver cage.
Back toward a fate worse than death.
Back to him.
42
Sneaking back into the palace was much harder than flying after my little fugitive—because of course it was. Nothing came easy with her. Royal sentinels watched far more thoroughly for intruders than Angels trying to leave.
The moment I’d realized she was running, I’d excused myself from the council meeting, feigning illness. The brief glimpse I’d gotten of Stadiel’s face told me I’d have an earful of his opinion come morning.
It wasn’t like I wouldn’t have gotten reamed regardless.
Since returning, I’d been reckless. Uncaring of the consequences. Torn through protocol like it was nothing more than a suggestion.
And I was suffering for it—from all directions.
Iaoth’s suspicion. Stadiel’s fury. Sylaira’s silence.
Yet with my mate in my arms, herheartbeat in sync with mine…I couldn’t bring myself to care about anything else. Iaoth’s expectations, my duty, her hatred, the war—everything quieted when she was pressed against me.
The bond purred like a knife’s kiss—caressing and cruel. I’d let Sylaira get too far, and the sharp cuts into my soul were punishment, lest I forget my duty again. Whether we’d have to remain within a certain proximity for the rest of our lives or if we’d be able to separate once I’d claimed her, I wasn’t sure.
Guilt weighed my shoulders down. I was a terrible mate, especially because Sylaira would rather be anywhere else but with me.
I didn’t have time to linger on failures that were better left buried. Not when Thalvireth’s guards might be on an aerial patrol. I paused, feathers whispering through the air, and listened.
No polished armor shone beneath the night sky. No voices drifted from below.
