His head lolled to one side as he pried a single lid open, silently pleading for a glimpse of something, anything. His heart dropped at the blackness, then raced at the sight of the glowing red figure leaning in the corner. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see anymore, knowing who stood in front of him. His stomach clenched in anticipation.
“Ah, you’re awake. Good,” Asmodeus said. His thunderous voice echoed through the chamber, rattling his chains. The prince stood to his full height, his skin emanating a soothing heat as he stalked toward Levaroth.
“Please, Master.” Levaroth’s throat was raw, his voice the grinding of screws in a blender.
“Your loyalty is not the problem, General.” A pickaxe made entirely of shatter-proof ice materialized in the prince’s hands. He stepped closer and a choked noise ripped itself from Levaroth’s throat. “You are my own creation. I made you to serve Sheol without emotion. Yet somehow, you fancy yourself obsessed with my daughter.”
Without warning the prince raised the axe above his head and swung it across Levaroth’s abdomen, severing muscle and skin. He roared in pain as the magically preserved weapon penetrated his veins once again. His body shook. His flame did not warm him, his rage buried beneath a cloak just out of reach to save himself. If he wanted out of there, he would have only his wits.
Asmodeus leaned close, smoke drifting from his beastly nostrils.“I will do this to you, over and over, until you no longer feel the pain. Do not forget the creed you swore fealty to. In darkness the king was made. So shall I serve the darkness and my king. You are a warrior. A soldier. You exist only for me.”
Suddenly an urgent rapping came from the door. It swung open, sending a blinding beam of light directly into Levaroth’s eyes. He squeezed them shut, focusing on driving the cold out and coaxing his fire nearer.
“Sir!” Geryon said.
Levaroth didn’t open his eyes beyond a sliver, taking in his master’s personal servant. The creature huffed, distress plainly written on its face. Asmodeus stared at it, reading its mind. Levaroth cursed his inability to listen in on their shared telepathic connection.
“When?” the prince thundered.
“Just now, my prince,” Geryon answered.
The weapon of ice disappeared from the prince’s hands in a hiss of steam. Whatever had happened was enough to postpone Levaroth’s torment. Silently, he was grateful, but he wanted to know what it was.
“How many?”
“At least twenty.”
Asmodeus’s roar shook the chamber, rattling Levaroth’s ribs, the threads that held his body together vibrating uncomfortably. Then the prince and his servant left him, the cell door slamming shut. He exhaled a rattling breath.
Whatever had produced such a rage in Asmodeus, he hoped it didn’t have to do with Emma. He imagined her safe, smiling. Her emerald eyes shining with rare laughter. Deep within his chest he felt the cord that led him to her. It was stretched, the same as it had been every time he felt for it since his imprisonment. A flutter of satisfaction filled him, knowing the Mark of Fallen Flame had not erased his own brand on her skin. It wouldn’t protect her the same in his weakened state, but he could sense her, which meant she was alive, and that thought was enough to ignite a spark in his blood.
He pulled on the cord, this time feeling himself lift from his tortured body in the cell. When his eyes opened anew, he stood on a sandy beach. Waves roared and crashed onto the shore, the breeze carrying the scent of sweetness and sunshine.
Emma.
He found her instantly, less than twenty feet away, staring out at the vast blue. The salty mist clung to her hair, making it frizz and curl. The sun highlighted the red strands dancing over her shoulders like a living flame.
The two of us could set the world ablaze. She could be who she really was with him. No hiding how the darkness suited her. No pretending that she wasn’t capable of destruction and chaos. No denying that she didn’t crave it. He could handle her fire, and she could take his.
Her eyes lacked their usual brightness today, and her luscious lips were pursed together as she allowed herself to get lost in her thoughts.
He started toward her, feeling his muscles ache. But looking down at himself, he knew he was in his preferred human form. Not as the boy she’d come to know and trust as Rowek, but as man.
She sensed him then, glancing his way, but not in surprise. They often met in her dreams and he liked that she expected him. He couldn’t help the way his lips curved. It wasn’t as if he thought she’d be happy to see him, but the lack of instant hatred she normally flung his way had filled him with pleasure.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, breathy.
He turned his attention to the ocean, unable to sense the creatures that hunted within its depths.“Came to enjoy a swim. Want to join me?”
She narrowed her eyes at him as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her tight-fitting skinny jeans. “The water would be freezing here, no matter what time of year it is.” Her words felt more like a stated fact than a rebuttal to wade into the water with him.
He wanted to reach for her, to pull her along with him. If he was in her dreams, then the temperature of the water was entirely up to the imaginings of her subconscious.
“It’s only cold if you want it to be. If you tell the sun to shine, then it will.” He grinned at her.“You hold all the power in your hands.”
Her lips parted as she looked at him again. “Because I’m dreaming?”
He leaned closer to her, the thrill of her breath mingling with his, shooting through him.“Only if you want to be.”
She studied him for a moment, not pulling away, but not leaning into him either.“You’re hurt.”
Startled, he stepped back.
“Your face is gaunt, and your eyes look as though you’re in pain.”
As if giving her words life, his entire body throbbed with so much pain, he doubled over. He didn’t let a single sound escape his lips, crushing them together to hold it in. She crouched down in front of him, eyebrows knitting together. She reached for him then stopped herself, pulling her hands back and fisting the sand instead.
“Adrianna is in Sheol,” he grunted, forcing out the words. “I don’t know why, but they want me to forget you. Your father wants to cleanse me of my emotions.” He spat out the words like they tasted of rot on his tongue.
Emma sucked in a sharp breath.“She’s there?”Her eyes closed and she shook her head, the despair plain on her face.
“Don’t shake your head and look as if the entire world has fallen on your shoulders,” Levaroth scolded. He met her tortured gaze, holding it for several beats.“You aren’t beaten. If you want to make the world bow at your feet, you can. I meant what I said: the world is what you imagine it to be.”
Her expression turned cold. “The entire reason I’m a slave to my father’s will—a turned spy to my people—is because of you. My mother is in literal hell, because of you, and now, so is my best friend.”
She stood and let the sand fall from her hands, and as each grain fell, the shared dream dissolved.
When Levaroth felt the full gravity of his injuries, he shuddered. Sensing he was not alone, he cracked open the one eye that wasn’t completely swollen shut.
Dull, flickering candlelight illuminated his prison, though neither he nor Tlahaz, who stood behind Adrianna, needed the light to see. It was her mortal eyes that adjusted, taking in Levaroth’s shredded and bruised skin. Her jaw went slack and she retreated a step, only to meet the unyielding body behind her. He was physically less lethal in the smooth, human skin he chose, but still his body was decorated with sheathed blades. Enough for an armory.
Tlahaz gripped her biceps, steadying her, and Levaroth noted the way he held her to him. It was a light yet firm touch. Not meant to hurt, or even to warn her from fleeing. It was to anchor her.
If Levaroth could snort a laugh in his state, he might have. “You seem rather taken with that witch, Tlahaz.” The congealed blo
od in his throat made his words sound gurgled. Adrianna winced at the sound.“And you think she can erase my mind of Emma?”
Tlahaz’s nostrils flared as he released a lengthy breath. “I know she can.”
Adrianna glanced behind her at Tlahaz. From the way that she no longer looked afraid, he guessed she was a willing party in all of this. She nodded, as if agreeing to some unspoken demand, then stepped closer.
Levaroth’s chest rattled as he breathed in deep. The girl walked closer, and he lowered his head to whisper, “If I forget her, then she’ll be in even more danger than she’s already in.”
When Adrianna leveled her gaze with his, a resignation was etched into her features that made his breaths come faster. Harder.
“Adrianna.” His voice was a plea as her hands raised. Her palms glowed with brilliant purple light.
“This may hurt a little.”
His eyes squeezed shut and he withdrew inside himself. He sought his tether to Emma and clamped every ounce of his determination into holding it tight. He would not forget her.
He couldn’t, or she’d die.
The pain exploded behind his eyelids, as if his skull was being melted from the inside.
His lips parted and he wasn’t sure if he screamed, but when the searing, blinding pain began to recede, his throat was raw. His face was damp.With tears or blood, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps a mix.
Adrianna stood hunched over, breathing just as heavy as he did. And Tlahaz was standing just above her, brows drawn together in a look that Levaroth might have almost confused with concern.
“Did it work?” Tlahaz asked.
Levaroth already knew it hadn’t. He was clinging to every image of Emma: her wild waves brushing her delicate shoulders. Her shining emerald eyes filled with goodness and determination. Her curves and the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips, his lips.
“No,” Adrianna rasped.“I couldn’t even get inside his mind. I had no idea it was going to be so much more protected than human s’.”
Levaroth barked a laugh, then wheezed from the pain that jolted his ribcage. The flesh on the tips of his wings seared from pulling against the nails that held them pinned to the wall.
His body was utterly ruined.
But his mind was, so far, impenetrable.
For Emma’s sake, he hoped it remained that way.
3
Emma
Emma awoke with a start. The room was still dark, and the constant warmth and comfort that Blaze’s proximity brought her told her it was the middle of the night. It
wasn’t the first time Levaroth had invaded her dreams, but his usual swagger and domineering obsession with her had been absent this time.
Always, when he arrived in her dreams, they were somewhere new. The first time, she’d been back in Sheol, searching for her mom, and Levaroth had appeared behind her and told her to give up looking for her mother. When she had refused, he demanded that she be “a good little soldier” and do what her father told her. All the while, his eyes focused on her lips, until he’d pushed her against the unforgiving stone wall and tried to kiss her. She’d slapped him, and then she’d woken up.
But each time she saw him, he was less like an abrasive scouring pad on her person, and more…defeated. Tired. He hadn’t tried to kiss her this time. There was something about the way he spoke to her that was almost final. But she wasn’t sure why.
You aren’t beaten. If you want to make the world bow at your feet, you can.
Empowering words from a powerful being. The only thing she truly wanted right now was to save her mother and Hadessah and get her father’s mark removed. It was completely invisible, even to her own eyes, but she could feel it like a leech buried beneath her skin.
Every time she tried to communicate something about the curse she was forced to bear, her lips would mash shut as if glued that way.And pain would light up the mark in her shoulder blade, shooting down her spine.
There were no loopholes. No way of betraying her forced servitude to her father. For now, at least, she allowed herself to be the pawn. She had agreed to it after all. In order to ensure her mother’s safety, Emma had traded her freedom to become her father’s slave. Whatever he willed, she was forced to do. Any information she heard at the compound spilled from her lips without her consent whenever her father commanded it. Fortunately, he’d called on her only once in the two weeks she’d been back.
Her chest tightened as it always did when she felt the full weight of her entrapment. But she forced her morose thoughts away and after another hour of staring into the darkness, she let sleep take hold again.
Instead of blissful, dreamless slumber, the fiery depths of Sheol rose to encircle her. But this time, Levaroth was not there to pull her from her nightmares.
4
Blaze
H er screams tore through him, jarring him awake. His heart jackhammered in his chest as he leapt from his bed and threw open the two doors separating them.
He’d convinced Emma to keep them unlocked at night after he ripped them both off their hinges the first night she’d awoken him with her terrified screaming.
Twisted in the duvet, her limbs flailed wildly, fighting off an invisible attacker. His heart clawed up his throat at the sight, and he rushed to her, pinning her arms and crushing her to his chest.
“Shhh,” he soothed as she still fought.“Shhhh.” Her efforts turned limp as a broken sob wrenched from her throat. Blaze swallowed hard, smoothing the hair away from her face. It was knotted and wild from the significant fight she had been putting up. The same every night.
He let her cry, hoping she’d be able to fall back asleep in his arms as she sometimes did, but when her tears stopped she pushed away from his chest.
“I’m okay,” she said, her voice scratchy. Blaze didn’t feel like arguing with her. It never did him any good. She always refused to tell him anything.About her dreams, or her time in Sheol.
“Let’s go get some training in before everyone else wakes.” She slid from the bed, still not meeting his gaze. He grabbed her gently by the forearm, stopping her from escaping him.“You need to talk about it, Emma,” he said.“Every night you wake up screaming but you won’t tell me anything. If you can’t tell me, find someone you can tell.” He’d meant Gertie or perhaps one of the forty-eight Giborim females housed within the protection of the magical wards after abductions of Giborim females began several months ago, but Emma just shook her head.
“I’m fine. Really. Let’s go get some work in, please.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
She nodded, standing perfectly still as he headed back to his room, adjoined with hers.
From outside the training room he heard her grunts and punches thudding against the punching bags. He waltzed into the room, watching her as she huffed. Punched. Kicked. She didn’t look up, though he knew she could sense him from the rigid set of her spine.
Over and over her hits echoed in the large space. Jab.
Kick.
Spin.
Kick.
Jab, jab, jab.
Duck, jab.
Kick.
Spin.
Her entire body looked more toned. Every subtle curve
and divet of hard-earned muscle moved and tightened with her repetitive actions. They trained together every morning, sometimes for hours, or at least until he was called away by the elders and region leaders for meetings on strategy and news of the world outside the compound. He was glad to spend time with her—at least with him, she was safe—but she may as well have been miles away. She was distracted. Stuck in her own head. He allowed her silence because he had plenty on his mind too.
Every nation had fallen into discord with more political leaders being murdered daily. Each time someone new tried to take charge, they too were thrown out of the mix. Riots and looting were how the humans fought for their survival, instead ensuring their deaths.
Wordlessly, Blaze slipped on boxi
ng gear and made his way toward Emma. Knowing from experience never to let an opponent sneak up on her, he cleared his throat.
She whirled and lunged for him. He dodged; she rolled gracefully back to her feet, fists protecting her face. Her entire body was coiled, ready to defend or attack—an angry wolf staring down the larger alpha pack leader. Though she watched him, she didn’t really see him. He wondered how much longer her disconnect would last. What would he do if she never recovered? The thought made him swallow hard, his chest aching.
They were both broken in different ways. Surely, they’d anchor each other.
He faked a left hook, then swung his right leg out to knock her off her feet, but she jumped over it. The ease in which they fought—like an elegant, yet brutal dance—made him complacent. It lowered his guard enough for her to spin away from his assault and land a kick—too fast to anticipate—to his chest, sending him sprawling back.
Sweat dripped from her brow, her eyes aglow with eerie green light. He stared up at her, forcing a smile.“Good one.”
“Again,” she heaved.
“How about we use strike pads instead? Then you can just go rapid-fire? Help you work through whatever the hell it is you can’t tell me.”
She glowered.“I will. Eventually. I just need time.”
Blaze huffed as he got to his feet. “Time is not on our side right now, Emma. It’s something we have very little of.” The moment he’d spoken the words, he realized they were too harsh.
Her brows slammed down, anger coursing over her features. “Again!”
He shook his head, but obliged her, taking the offensive to throw three quick jabs toward her chest and face which she dodged and blocked. Not wasting any time, she threw two punches of her own that he easily leapt away from, giving him enough room to throw a kick to her abdomen, his foot stopping an inch from her heaving chest. She knocked his foot away and they reset.
He grinned at the flustered way she rushed him again, taking the opportunity to pull her to him, lock her arms to her sides, and force her to look at him at last.
The Throne of Broken Bones (Weapon of Fire and Ash Book 3) Page 2
