Page 61 of Claimed By the Depths

It was a battle for oxygen, and I wasn’t winning.

My lids fluttered, and the edges of my vision dotted with impending doom. A numbness penetrated my extremities, pinprick tingles dancing across every inch of my body that felt almost too far away to grasp. I was one breath away from it all fading when a familiar hand settled on my waist. Another followed, and with a quick shove, I was forced onto my side.

Heaving, every ounce of blackening blood escaped me. It came out in mouthfuls, my gag replaced with groans indicative of the searing affliction that had coiled around my throat and lungs. But where I wavered, the presence behind me remained solid, a grounding cord as I tried, but failed, to gather my bearings.

Gentle fingers raked through my hair, sweeping the sweat-laden strands from my forehead as my senses slowly returned. No longer assaulted by Yxalune’s wails, the voice that greeted me was a blanket of warmth and serenity—of home.

“I’ve got you, Cas. I’m right here.”

Her.

Rohen.

My lips parted, but with my tongue a foreign muscle in my mouth, I remained unable to articulate my thoughts. Relaxing into her touch, the other palm I assumed belonged to the woman my heart sang for lifted. Weakly, my head swiveled, and when I caught sight of those strawberry-blonde locks adorned with various beads and those alluring golden eyes, I sank into the open palms of unconsciousness.

For the assassin I would willingly crawl for, and my true love had me. And that was more than enough.

CHAPTER 34

Fall from Grace

SORVA

Lush velvet trailed behind me; the red tailcoat I wore extended to glide along the floor with my approach. Tailored slacks hugged my waist and cinched at my ankles, highlighting my black laced heels. Brassiere fitted with leather straps, the rose petals etched into the sheer fabric did little to hide my assets, but it was intentional.

I was the main course anyway.

My silk gloves greeted the large doors, and with one shove, they parted.

From the granite round table, the three awaiting my arrival stood. Clad in similar regality, those who held positions of power alongside me trained me with their gazes. Kyrn dipped her chin in admiration, her skintight crimson dress blanketing little of her otherwise visible frame. Beside her, Maulix stood, his sooty blazer draped over his bare torso. At the far end, my beautiful son towered, his form-fitting battle leathers displaying the weight of his rule.

The lesser born of their regions shifted from their perches on the grandeur staircases lining the throne room. Without pause, they bowed in submission, not only as a sign of respect but a request for mercy. Stories of my decision to spill the blood of the disobedient and paint my obsidian floors with it had traveled from Vyrkhalis to Nyxthral, to Zerathis, and Morveth, leaving no living creature willing to challenge my wrath.

Satisfied, I progressed into the chamber; a chamber built to inspire fear, a byproduct of perfection. Every stone, shadow, and impossible angle existed to proclaim a single truth—this is where power sat, and that power did not fucking apologize.

Admiring the flags embroidered with my infamous sigil above, the chains responsible for bearing their weight coiled around cathedral-sized pillars. The links bore no other purpose than symbolizing restraint, not mine, but that of the world. The columns they adorned faded into the shadows beyond, denying the eye any comforting measure of scale because I never intended it—infinity belonged to me and me alone.

Placed behind the council table, a perfect circle forged from monolithic stone, was my throne. It sat elevated above every soul who entered, signifying the climb toward judgment. Forged from serrated obsidian and crowned with twisting horns and impossible spires, it resembled the skeletal remains of the former gods, the Damned, those we’d swallowed and spit into the confines of oblivion.

Their pathetic children were their only hope, and the reason we had joined in meeting.

The taloned fingers of my servants coiled around my chair. With a quick tug, they pulled it free, waiting for me to slip into its rocky embrace before pushing me back into place. Eyes roving over the beings surrounding me, my lips tugged upward before I offered them my word.

“You may be seated.”

Hooves and feet rustled as every attendee obliged my command. Those at the table returned to their makeshift pedestals, their places in the Ebon Convergence that dictated their titles. As each of them adjusted themselves, finding comfort in the power our realm wrought, I took yet another headcount.

“Where is Vrax?”

Evrexiths leaned back and folded his arms over his chest, displaying his marred features and the absence of his left eye. “Tending to Malrik. They’ve pinned the Divari in Hollowmere, and she figured the foolish human ought to have a babysitter.”

“Watching the skilled assassin was more pertinent than attending a summons?”

“That is not what I inferred,” he shot back, brows narrowing. “Nor am I a fan of having words put in my mouth, Mother.”

Kyrn twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “We all know Vrax is… spontaneous. Isn’t that why you selected her as your right hand, our Beloved?”

I offered Evrexiths a grin and shifted my attention. “None of this is of importance. I trust one of you will enlighten her on what we are discussing today, as the future of our realm depends on this conversation.” I dropped my elbow on the armrest, curling my fingers inward for examination. “Caspian Vayne is toeing the edge of delirium, and soon enough, if he is not careful, my influence will taint him entirely.”