Rage swiftly overtook Cael’s lingering desire. How dare they dress her up like a doll for that green-winged fuck?
She offered him a resigned grimace from across the cell, then unfolded the long legs he’d just imagined clenched around his temples. She strutted towards Alexei, her spirit intact and refusing to cower.
It took a special kind of bravery for someone like Xenia, who’d spent nearly her entire life cloistered behind the walls of that Temple, to face these terrors and remain unbroken. Bloody Stygios, he’d known Vestian Guards who would’ve succumbed to panic and helplessness by now. And Xenia thoughtCassandrawas the strong one? Just because Xenia couldn’t throw a punch or wield a dagger, that didn’t diminish her power. There were only a handful of people Cael would want by his side in these circumstances. And though he hadn’t known her for very long, Xenia was certainly one of them.
Also didn’t hurt that she was extremely pleasant to look at.
He felt like a cad for thinking such things at a time like this, but he was finding it harder and harder to suppress his attraction.
She strode straight past Alexei without giving the Deathstalker a second glance, knocking her shoulder into the asshole and padding out of view.
“What were you two doing in here?” Alexei whispered, his nostrils flaring as he twisted his neck to stare at Xenia’s ass as she walked away.
Alexei’s forked tongue darted between his lips, sucking in her scent. He closed the cell door, then slipped the key back into his pocket. “Maksym might not have a taste for mortal flesh, but we could probably convince him to let us sample her. Better go see if she needs help cleaning up.” Alexei’s fangs popped but before he could step away, his face slammed against the iron bars. Cael blinked as he looked down and saw his own hands fisted in Alexei’s white jacket.
He barely even realized he’d moved.
Alexei was struggling to pull away, scratching at Cael’s fists, the dagger at his hip clanking against the bars. The other guard took a step towards them, then backed off at whatever savagery he found on Cael’s face.
“If you so much as breathe in her direction,” Cael snarled, his voice a low rumble so guttural he hardly recognized it, “I will rip out your fangs and use them to put two more scars on that mutilated fucking wasteland you call a face.”
Alexei ripped himself free, tearing his jacket in his desperation. As soon as he hit the opposite wall, he stood up straight, dusted himself off and plastered on an amused expression. But Cael had seen Alexei’s genuine terror a moment ago. It was heartening that he could still inspire it in his weakened state.
Alexei flicked his head towards the end of the hallway, signaling the other guard to escort Xenia out of the dungeon. Alexei approached the cell again, staying well out of reach of Cael’s long arms.
“You will pay for that,” Alexei sneered.
Cael turned back into the cell, slid down the wall and propped his forearms on bent knees.
“Again,” he crooned, “worth it.”
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
The flight from Meridon to Vaengya lasted about an hour, though it felt ten times longer to Cassandra, who spent the entire time anxiously ruminating on Xenia.
Her friend had used an alias with those Sisters. Why hadn’t Xenia wanted to reveal her identity? Why wouldn’t she have told them the truth, exposed Maksym’s plans? Maksym must’ve threatened something truly terrible to ensure Xenia’s cooperation.
And what had happened to Xenia after? Had Maksym or one of his goons returned to Meridon to recapture her? Cassandra prayed to every High God that Cael’s father’s forces would find them before something devastating occurred.
“We’re almost there.” Tristan’s deep voice at Cassandra’s ear shook her from her thoughts. She gazed out over the water towards a green and gray landmass framed by the fiery golden halo of the setting sun.
As they drew nearer, sheer, rocky cliff-faces came into focus, topped by flat stretches of flaxen fields and verdant meadows. White plaster houses with thatched roofs dotted the rolling farmlands, and at the bottom of the cliffs a stretch of black sand beach unfurled from a break in the rock face like a poisoned tongue. Tiny rowboats anchored to the seabed bobbed on the gentle waves. Between the boats and the beach, wooden posts poked above the water’s edge in evenly spaced rows with mesh bags coated in slime and seaweed hung between them.
“What are those?” she asked.
“Oyster farms,” Tristan answered. “All the pearls in Ethyrios come from Vaengya.” There was a slight tremor in his voice, a low note of deep sadness that Cassandra almost inquired about before he tucked his wings in and pitched them into an exhilarating free fall.
As if to discourage further questioning.
He aimed for a small town perched on the cliff’s edge.
“Have you been here before?” she asked as they touched down at the edge of the town’s main thoroughfare.
“No.”
She didn’t realize it was possible for a single word to hold so much pain and regret.
Cassandra scanned the sleepy hamlet as Tristan settled her on her feet.
