I did not know how else to describe it. Moving through the void was not exact. At least, not for me.Not yet—a voice whispered in my mind. I ignored it.
We moved in silent tandem around the corner, finding a row of empty cells. Empty, because whoever had been held here wasdead. A rotting corpse huddled in one corner, covered in its own refuse. In another, there was nothing left but bones. Scattered bones. As if the body been ripped apart before being left to bleed out.
Impressive, in terms of torture techniques.
Concerning, for a king and queen in need of an ally.
Another door, a set of stairs downward. Not a single guard to be seen.
Palomides must consider this place secure enough without them, at least inside the dungeons themselves. Later, we’d see how many guards waited beyond the door where Arran and I had first arrived.
We were halfway down the stairs when the scent hit me.
No.It couldn’t be, not here.They can’t—we are too late—
“Arran, take one of my rapiers.” I kept my voice low. Did they hear? There was still so much we did not know. I shoved the blade into Arran’s hand. “You cannot bleed with the scabbard, but they can still injure you—”
“The scabbard?”
Arran’s eyes blew wide as the scent accosted him as well. Decay and death, but worse. The smell of darkness. Not the darkness within me, or even within Arran. This was a darkness that took and took until there was nothing left; a darkness from which there was no return.
What is that?
My soul sang in response to his voice inside of me, stroking me through the bond despite the lurking danger.
Answering him was as easy as breathing.You cannot bleed while you wear the scabbard. It protects you.And then,the succubus can kill without drawing blood.
Understanding flashed through the bond, companion to confusion and questions. But I did not have time to answer them. Not now.
I grabbed Arran’s arm, letting the warmth of him run through me even as the cold, calm of killing overtook my senses. “I love you.”
Maybe it was unfair, to drop those words on him in a moment like this when he could not hope to process them. But I knew what awaited us but a few steps ahead, and I would not go to my death or let him to go to his without the truth between us. No matter what had happened, who Arran was, I loved him.
For a thousand years and a thousand more.
The scent was overwhelming. I could hardly breathe. But killing was natural to me, it was my sustenance. When nothing else in my life made sense, the feel of blood and blade was clear.
I would stand between my mate and death. I would not put him in danger again.
I charged down the stairs, rapier in one hand and dagger in the other.
There were no torches, no light at all. Maybe the succubus did not need it to hunt. My eyes sharpened, pupils widening to let in every bit of life-saving light. But my blade was already swinging outward in a defensive sweep. Arran was behind me. Not Arran—his beast. He’d shifted, and the brush of his thick fur against my midsection as he pushed past bolstered me. We’d face this together. We would survive.
Arran snarled, muscles tensing to leap.
But no attack came.
My hands dropped to my sides, weapons with them, as my eyes fully adjusted and realization took over.
I felt Arran shift beside me, the soft fur replaced by leather and wool.
“Ancestors save us,” he breathed.
If I had any faith left in the Ancestors, I might have said the same.
They were behind bars. Caged, like animals.
But so much worse.
