His words bring forth memories of when I met Killian—the self-imposed hatred and the confusing attraction—and I chuckle. History tends to repeat itself, after all.
“The night you sent me away, she begged you to reconsider. It was the one singular time we were wholly on the same side. But you were immovable. You couldn’t see reason. I should have been a weapon in your hands. Instead, you made me swear on our soul bond that I would vanish and only return after the battle.”
His mournful exhale sends ardent puffs of steam into the morning sky, the clouds parting like melting snow. Below I can see the dark crenels and twisting spires of Sangeries.
“I am a creature of many mistakes, Omri, but that was my gravest one yet.”
“You can’t possibly fault yourself for what transpired in that battle,”I say, although I already know deep in my gut his answer.
“Oh, but I can, Omri. And I do. This time, with my last dying breath, I will ensure you and Akaori get your ever after. That Imiryion is rid of the Dark Lord, once and for all.”
“K’haram, you will do no such thing,” I say out loud, my voice above a whisper. “We shall restore the balance together, and we shall live together in this new world that so many sacrificed their fucking lives to bring to fruition. I will not have it any other way.”
“Mmm,”is his only response as he severs our mental connection, plunging suddenly to the ground in a spectacular whirlwind of flapping wings. I grab his neck with all my might, holding on for dear life, all further arguments dissolving into the rush of an impending collision that I know won’t come.
This conversation is not over, though.
I will not let another soul die because of my sister.
Aeon’s father.
Whatever the hell this despicable creature is.
This time around, we are the ones making the story, and it won’t end in anyone’s death but Aurora’s.
I vow it to myself.
To Killian.
To K’haram, and to Imiryion itself.
Chapter 31
Blaise
Dayspassinablur of training, reconnaissance missions with my warriors and the best Dark Umbras, overseeing the production of the sleep concoction with Sariah and a cold battle of wills with her brother. The darn male regards me as a mere joke, the frivolous vampire I used to be and not the earnest version of myself that I’ve been turning into without even trying.
Our dislike is mutual, but Soren’s opinion of me matters because I know itmatters to her. If I ever hope to stand arealchance with Sariah, I’ll need to get into her brother’s good graces.
I’ve never been particularly interested in what other males think of me, especially not when most would have skewered me, undead and all, for sleeping with their wives, their daughters, their mothers… Okay, maybe I deserve Soren’s not so unfounded despisal.
I swirl the last of my bloodwine in the crystal chalice hanging from my fingertips. It’s almost dusk, and every nightfall brings me a sense of giddiness, as my nights have been spent withher, chained to my own bedpost, shackled to the wall, tied up with knotted ropes while she sensuously tortures me until I beg for release. I’m not ashamed to admit I find extremepleasure in the act of submitting to her will, just as much as when I take the reins and ram into her writhing body.
As the sun dips below the mountains and the stars blink into existence, her hushed footsteps resound on the winding staircase leading to the battlement where I’m waiting for her. She reaches the landing and her movements halt, her breathing becoming shallow.
“Blaise, what is this?”
I turn from the crenel and drink her in with hungry eyes. Her golden hair flows down her back, swaying gently in the chilly breeze. Her soft cyan dress and cape cling to her figure, while the thigh-high slit in her skirt exposes a sliver of creamy skin I long to touch. She takes in the candlelit table I’ve asked Nella to help me prepare with bright, curious eyes.
“Well, dinner, of course,” I answer as I pull out one chair and gesture her to take a seat. She approaches warily, scanning my face with the keen eye of a trained spy. I can see the wheels of her enthralling mind spinning behind her arctic gaze, like a cloudless sky in the middle of a winter day.
“You don’t eat dinner,” she says carefully as she takes her seat. I lower to press a kiss on her cheek, murmuring against her rosy flesh, “But you do.”
“You’re not getting soft on me, pretty boy, are you?” she challenges, and I huff out a laugh.
“No need to worry, moonlight. I’ll always behardfor you.”
My innuendo has its intended effect, and she relaxes in her seat, accepting the flute of bubbly wine I’m offering.
