More creatures, some that look human and some that don’t, are all engaged in combat against the enemy. One Nephilim stands out against all the rest. It’s the only one not fighting, standing off in the distance. It towers a foot taller than its brethren, and although it appears just as monstrous as the others, there’s a different aura around it. Something that makes it deadlier. Wiser in his bloodlust.
He’s also not alone. At first, I confused the flying creature next to him with a dragon. The creature isn’t a dragon and appears human but has wings. Large gray ones, flapping languidly in the wind to keep itself up. From here, the creature looks all gray, but they’re so far away, it’s hard to tell. Despite their distance, the power radiating off the creature makes my knees weak. My legs give out, and I sink to my knees, landing in plush grass.
An anguished wail rises above all the other noise. I jerk my head up in time to see another winged person above me. This one is female with the same gray coloring as the other. She wears black and mossy-green armor, silver bands decorating both her arms. She’s bloodied and probably has multiple wounds. Her left wing seems damaged, as her right wing compensates to keep her up.
But it’s the sheer devastation on her face that brings me to a standstill. The raw, soul-crushing anguish in her scream. Tears carve tracks through the blood on her cheeks, and for a moment, I can’t breathe.
Her pain slams into me like a tidal wave, crashing through every defense I thought I had. I hear a scream—my own—and clutch my chest as if I can hold my heart together. But it’s already breaking, shattering piece by piece right in front of me.
The physical pain is nothing compared to the betrayal slicing through me like a thousand blades, reopening wounds that never truly healed. Scars etched deep in places no one can see. And no matter how much time passes, they still bleed. It’s not my pain. It’shers.
“Stop this! I beg of you! We fight for Mescos. We protect!” the woman screams at the other like her. I can’t see the expression of the person she’s speaking to, but I do notice when they turn their back to her. Another piercing scream rings out around us. Something snaps, breaking permanently.
The pain intensifies.
It’s too much. Too hot. Too constricting.
Bright white light explodes within my head. My scream reverberates around me until all I know is pain.
Darkness creeps in, and for the first time, I’m afraid of the shadows. They claim me, pulling me down until I can no longer fight. I surrender, and everything goes black.
Then…nothing. Only silence.
Chapter 18
Oziel
Blood pours from Isabelle’s nose as her face drains of color. She lets out a piercing, bone-chilling scream that cuts through the air like a dagger. The Nephilim’s cries join hers, a haunting symphony of terror that reverberates in my skull. The sound is unbearable. Standing becomes a struggle, and holding on to Isabelle feels impossible.
Then, she goes limp in my arms.
My heart pounds violently in my chest, as if there are steel hands gripping it, ready to tear it free from my body. Beads of cold sweat trickle down the back of my neck, chilling my usual warm body to icy cold. This emotion is foreign to me. Something I haven’t experienced since…the roses. The day my parents died.
Isabelle grows cold to the touch. Any longer down here with the Nephilim will cause her body to shut down. It is just a guess, but not one I want to test. My queen is dead weight in my arms, but she feels as light as a feather. Shadows enclose us, far too slowly for myliking. Power flickers within me like candlelight, rapidly losing steam.
Finally, the shadows blanket us completely, silencing the cries of the Nephilim. When they part for me, we’re no longer in the dungeon. Isabelle’s room feels like a paradise. Adrenaline pulses through my veins, lighting a fire within me. With great care, I carry Isabelle to bed. The woman doesn’t so much as stir as I lay her down. If it weren’t for the slight rise and fall of her chest, I would mistake her as dead.
She’s so pale. And her chest and bodice are soaked with her blood. Red stains her lips, painting them a menacing crimson color. I roar, shaking the very foundation of the castle. It’s a call for any demon nearby. A distress call, one I have only given once before.
Garvan is first to Isabelle’s room, followed by two other demons, one whom I recognize as a medic. Garvan assesses the room and takes one look at Isabelle before springing into action. He barks orders to the two demons in the room, and they fall in line, both coming to attend to Isabelle. I’ve never been more thankful for my courtier than this moment. The green-skinned demons attempt to move me out of the way, but I bare my teeth at them.
“My lord, Zain needs to assess the queen.” Garvan takes a tentative step in my direction. He reaches out like he’s going to touch Isabelle, but fury once again fills me, and my shadows circle his arm, forcing it back down at his side. And just like that, the feelings for my courtier diminish into something truly vile.
He stops approaching the bed, lips set in a grim line. “We can’t help her if we don’t go near her, my lord.”
I know he’s right. She needs the attention from the medic, but I’m unwilling to move. Distrust for my own people plagues me. In fact, distrust runs rampant throughout my kingdom, everyone always trying to point the finger at someone else. Anger demands an outlet. Someone has to be blamed. Do these demons blame me for not protecting our people? Will they hurt their queen in order to hurt me?
But if Isabelle doesn’t receive help…that could also be a death sentence. One I have no one to blame for but myself.
The choice is simple, and yet I find stepping back the hardest thing I’ve ever had to force myself to do.
The demon—Zain—looks upon me with uncertainty but soon determines I won’t attack them for touching Isabelle. Zain speaks to the other demon, one whose name I didn’t catch, and together, they place their hands over Isabelle and chant. Garvan moves closer to me, but still keeps a sizable distance between us. Smart man. If I lash out, he would be the recipient of my wrath.
“What happened?” Garvan asks.
I answer him, though I don’t look away from Isabelle. A sheer gray film radiates from Zain’s hands as they trail across Isabelle’s chest. “She spoke to the Nephilim.”
Garvan’s eyes widen. A flicker of unease flashes in his eyes. “Is that wise, my lord? With what little we know about the Nephilim, it seems dangerous to test the waters.”
