by Anna Carven
She loved the way he said her name in that deep, rumbling drawl, as if he were caressing every syllable with his voice.
But at the same time, his arrogance got under her skin. Typical Imril. “You think you know everything, don’t you, Drakhin?”
“Not everything, but I know most things.”
She didn’t know whether he was being serious or not. “Then why are you still here, holding the hands of a woman you can’t really touch, when your empire is in ruins?”
Imril lifted her blackened hand and kissed it. “Because, my dear Primean, I am about to fly into the most dangerous place on the face of Khira, and I do not know what I am getting myself into, so before I do that, I need to feed.”
Her palm tingled as his lips touched her skin, as he kissed her hand slowly. His lips were as warm as she remembered them, and his tongue was as devious as ever, tracing small circles on her palm.
The nightblack came off as he licked her. “Th-that’s not a very good disguise,” she gasped.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Mhmm.” Imril ignored her as he drowned in the heady cloud of her vir. He didn’t tell her that his saliva contained special enzymes that easily broke down the algae’s black residue, yet another mystery of his strange biology—probably the Vradhu genes in him. He just kept licking her hand, drawing in her power, cleaning the nightblack from her beautiful brown skin in the process.
The more he took from her, the more she relaxed, and he knew that was the effect of his feeding. As a predator, it was easier for him if his victim found the feeding process enjoyable. That was how the Ancestor had designed them. Feeding tapped into neural pathways and released certain chemicals in the brain.
With her right hand licked clean, he took her left, paying homage to the fingers that had painted his wings with such methodical precision.
“Ohh,” she sighed, and he wondered what it would be like to hear her cry out when he placed his tongue on her pleasure points.
He was certain her anatomy would be compatible with his. It had to be. They were similar in so many ways; bipedal, two-armed, intelligent…
Besides, he could smell her arousal.
Imril sucked on her fingers, imagining that he was pleasuring her below, enjoying the flow of her vir as its character changed, becoming deeper, richer.
“You’re terrible,” she announced in a tone that told him she meant the exact opposite. She made a half-hearted attempt to pull her hand away, relenting when he circled the pad of her thumb with his tongue. “I-I thought you weren’t going to force this.”
“Mhmm.” Imril kept his eyes downcast, fearing he would lose control if he looked at her. His vocal chords started to rumble, a deep, primal sound that surprised even him. He knew of this response, this typically Vradhu reaction that could signify both deep desire and satisfaction, but it had never happened to him before.
Unable to help himself, he looked up and saw that her eyes were closed. Her face was upturned, her lips slightly parted, her expression an impossible mixture of serenity and yearning.
She was ripe.
But he’d taken enough.
“I have to go,” he said hoarsely, turning away. The sun was dipping below the horizon, throwing the deepest shade of violet across the sky.
He glanced over his shoulder, shooting her a final lingering look.
Then he picked up his helm, donned it, and launched himself into the sky, spreading his wings wide as a powerful wind-current carried him away.
“Be safe.” Her soft voice drifted after him, and he was grateful for the wind that carried him away, because he almost looped around and turned back to make her his once and for all.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
With Esania’s glorious energy roaring through his vir-channels, Imril flew over dark plains and valleys and moonlight-touched streams. He hated the thought of leaving her alone even for a moment, but Za’s hells, he was spread thin.
Nykithus’s sudden appearance had reminded him how vulnerable their position was. Right now, the eyrie was unguarded, and he didn’t like that at all, but Rau had strict instructions to take the humans into the underground vault at the first sign of danger.
He’d inspected the vault thoroughly, and it was in good working order, connected to two escape tunnels that ran beneath the lake, emerging in secluded thickets on the other side. When it came to defense, Auka technology was infallible.
Hopefully, Esania would never have to use the vault. He would try and get this done as quickly as possible.
Za’s burning hells, this was not his way of doing things, but Imril had no choice. He had to strike first, to find a way to eliminate the threat before Nykithus found them.
In order to do that, he needed information, and Mael was the only one who could tell him what had happened to the world in his absence.
His brother was as old as he, his existence a mere drop in the lifetime of this planet, but an eternity in the history of their race.
Could he be flying into a trap?
No, Mael had his chance to kill him already. Mael had his chance to take Esania and Sara, and he’d left them in Imril’s care.
And Mael would never, ever side with the likes of Nykithus. Mael was a loner, rarely venturing out of his mysterious domain in the frozen southern pole of Khira.
But something had drawn him out, and clearly, he needed Imril’s power.
What are you planning, brother of mine?
Imril didn’t trust Mael, but right now, he needed him too. How ironic that they were once again forced together—out of necessity. He gritted his teeth. For Esania’s sake, he would lay aside old vendettas and work with his twin.
For her sake.
She didn’t know it yet, but she was his lukara—his mate. In the ashes of his empire, Imril had finally found his One, but there was no way he could mate with her unless she accepted his elgida. He would kill her otherwise.
What was it that his old friend Tykhe had told him once? Tykhe, who had been happily mated to a Vradhu female, who had given his mate the most stunningly intricate elgida, who was the proud father of two healthy Drakhin sons, had thought to advise him on the finer points of mating.
That was such a long time ago, but he remembered it like it was yesterday. They’d just come from a sparring session, and Tykhe was nursing a vicious cut above his left eyebrow.
As usual, Imril didn’t have a scratch on him.
“Ah, Lord Imril, you invulnerable bastard. You’re more vicious today than usual. What’s gotten into you? Maybe you just need to go and get laid.”
Imril shot him a baleful look. “Don’t you start, Tykhe.”
“It will happen, Imril. You might think you’re all-powerful now, Overlord, but someday, a female will come along, and she will make you feel like burning your empire to the ground just to have her. You may think you will always be in control, but it will happen quickly, without warning, like a lightning flare from the sky. And you will know without a shadow of a doubt, that she is the One, your one and only lukara, because you won’t be able to go a moment without thinking of her.” Tykhe laughed. “I can’t wait to see you brought to your knees by a female, brother. You might think I’m mad, but one day, you will understand.”
But Tykhe was long gone, having left the planet on an Auka escape ship, and he would never meet the female to whom Imril had pledged his elgida.
Ah, how he missed the bastard. He really could have used Tykhe’s advice right now.
Anger rose up in him as he soared over undulating hills that merged into sand dunes. His body crackled with pent-up energy as he crossed a wide beach and flew over the wild sea. In the distance, a storm raged, spitting lightning from thick black clouds.
He was at perhaps half his full strength now, still hungry, still furious, still horny as fuck, driven half-mad with the thought that he was doing this to himself. Really, he could take Esania at any time. He could force the elgida upon her if he wanted to.
But that woul
d be futile.
How could he live with a mate who didn’t trust him? She’d already ruined him for vir—he just couldn’t stomach the thought of feeding from another—and he selfishly demanded her subservience.
Yet he wanted more.
Consumed with thoughts of Esania, Imril flew on until at last he saw what he was looking for.
There.
The darkness below changed, becoming absolute. Not a single ray of moonlight or starlight penetrated here. This was perfect darkness, even darker than the night itself, completely obliterating any sight of the vast Kingdom of Ton Malhur.
The shadowveil was impressive.
And there was only one being on all of Khira who could construct such a thing.
Twisting his body, angling his wings, Imril caught a downward current and dropped toward the impenetrable darkness. He landed on a windswept rocky outcrop bordered by half-dead grasses and weeds. Power flared from his hands, snapping and crackling against the blackness and silence, the only sign of life in the forlorn, forsaken place.
The Vakarin plains.
The edge of the Mountain Kingdom.
Just as Esania had told him.
Slowly, Imril folded his wings, sat down, and waited for Chaos.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“So you do have some sense left in that thick head of yours.”
Imril whirled as Mael materialized out of the darkness. It had always irked him that he couldn’t sense Mael, even though Mael could sense him.
But then how did one detect a being that wielded nothingness instead of power? Some aspects of his twin’s abilities had always remained a mystery, and he still had no idea what new powers Mael might have gained during his bonding with the Hythra.
Mael was dangerous, and not to be trusted, and there was a lot of bad blood between them.
Imril thought about hurling a bolt of power at the bastard’s face, but decided against it. Mael had been decent enough not to touch the pregnant human, Sara, so Imril would hear him out. Besides, he needed information.
“What is this, Mael?” His power flared, surrounding him with a cocoon of golden light. “What do you want?”
Mael frowned. “Brother of mine, just this once, can you quit being so fucking conspicuous? ”
“What are you talking about?” Imril’s left eyebrow twitched in irritation as he rose to his feet, drawing on every shred his self-control just to dampen the tension inside him; anger, violence, lust, surging through his body like an uncontrollable fire.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Esania.
Calm down.
Couldn’t stop thinking about her.
“Look at you, brother, all lit up like an eyrie’s shining beacon in the night. What’s up with you? This isn’t the age of Drakhin anymore. Try a little stealth before you alert the Naaga to our presence.” Mael scoffed. “But subtlety was never your strong point, was it, brother?”
“I’ve never needed to be subtle.” Although Imril’s voice was laced with scorn, he tempered the power crackling through his vir channels, pulling it deep within his body. The light around him disappeared, leaving them in perfect darkness with only the cold wind whistling past. “Since when were you afraid of Naaga?”
“Not afraid, idiot. You’ve got no idea what has happened while you were having your little three-hundred-revolutions long nap, do you?”
“Care to enlighten me, then? Three hundred revolutions and you couldn’t control the situation, Mael? I’m surprised.”
A baleful expression crossed Mael’s dark features. “Tch. I became infected with the virus, just like you. I was weak. Sick. It took a hundred revolutions until I was fully healed. In that time, all I could do was contain the area with my shadow. If I let it fall now, I would release them into the world.” Mael bared his sharp teeth. “I’m not the one who caused this fucking mess. What kind of Overlord ignores infighting between his Lords? You could have stopped it.”
Imril went still, anger and lust freezing in his veins as he remembered the events that led up to Nykithus’s betrayal.
“I could have,” was all he said. But I grew complacent. I didn’t read the signs until it was too late.
Quick-witted, graceful, charming Nykithus had been his favored Lord, and Imril had gifted him the vast kingdom of Ton Malhur, shocking some of the older Lords who’d had their eyes on the rich highlands for hundreds of revolutions.
Petty politics. Backstabbing. Infighting. Whispers and rumors of a successor. Drakhin Lords all vying for his favor.
How tedious and pointless it had all become.
And slowly, he’d become completely and utterly corrupted by his own power.
“Could have, would have, should have,” Mael snarled. “The question is, what are you going to do about it now?” He spat on the ground in disgust. “We are still here, and that moron Nykithus has done the unthinkable. He put his cursed seed into a Naaga and spawned an entire race of hybrids. The little lordling continues to rule over them, thinking he’s you.”
Imril hissed. “I’m surprised you haven’t killed him yet, brother.” Imril’s power flared again as he thought of a hundred different ways he might kill Nykithus the Betrayer. What kind of world had the bastard created in his absence? The younglings—least of all Nykithus—had never respected the old Laws, which he’d created specifically to prevent a situation like this.
One time… just one time, Nykithus had spoken of altering the Naaga’s DNA; making them stronger, more Drakhin-like, less subservient.
They share our blood, Imril, and there are females amongst them. We are all descendants of the Vradhu. What if we could…
Imril had told him never to speak of it again, on pain of death.
Mael’s tail flickered, a sign of his irritation. “You see this shadowveil? It covers all of Ton Malhur, even the Industrial City. Do you know how much concentration it takes to maintain this fucking thing? I don’t have the Hythra at my disposal to hold it in place while I hunt. In order to attack Nykithus, I would have to let it fall. What do you think happens if I do that?” Mael’s black eyes burned, and for a moment, they were twin gateways to the nexus between this dimension and the next. Shit. Sometimes even his own brother gave Imril the creeps. “I’m containing them, brother. I’ve held them under siege for three hundred revolutions, but there are thousands of them, and I am only one man, and unlike you, I am wingless.” He shot Imril an accusing glare. “It was necessary. They have these cursed new technologies.” Mael hissed in disgust. “Vir harvesters. Energy weapons. Poisons. Things that can harm even you and me. But now I grow tired of this, Imril. It’s time to end it. You need to finish what you started.”
Imril stared out at the blackness, at the impossible shadowveil, secretly transfixed by his brother’s power. Nobody except Mael really understood how his power worked. Somehow, he killed energy, killed light, turned it into darkness, into nothing.
But could his brother be trusted?
“Your madness… is it gone?” he asked finally, staring into eyes that were as black as the infinite Universe. Sometimes, he felt that Mael was changing, becoming closer to what their father was; a spectral creature with a direct link to that other dimension.
“It will never be gone,” Mael said softly, “but I can control it now. The Hythra is dead. I have her memories, but she is dead.”
“Finally.”
“Finally.”
Something passed between them then; a moment of shared understanding. Imril went still as hundreds of revolutions of animosity and hatred washed over him. There was a time when they wouldn’t have been able to look each other in the eye like this, when they would have tried to tear each other apart. After he broke free of the Hythra, Mael had been intent on taking away everything Imril had ruled over.
But now there was nothing. No throne, no empire, no Drakhin.
Bit by bit, Imril’s resentment toward Mael faded. It occurred to him that he couldn’t remember exactly what they were fighting about. Ag
es-old feuds had a way of becoming pointless like that.
He might be stubborn, but he wasn’t crazy. Imril took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to quell the storm that raged inside him. Esania’s perfect face swam and crystallized in his memory, her expression capturing a single emotion.
Hope.
Hope for survival.
Hope that he could be trusted. She wanted to trust him.
For a while, he said nothing as he listened to the howling wind, to the rhythm of this ancient, mysterious planet, where he and Mael were really nothing more than visitors. Khira was here before they were created, and it would be here when they had long turned into stardust.
He remembered his past life, a time of decadence and cruelty and wanton excess.
He would never want Esania to meet that version of him.
Imril swallowed his pride and made a decision. “What do you want me to do, brother?”
If Mael was surprised, he didn’t show it. If the words I-told-you-so were running through his mind, he didn’t speak them. Imril’s twin might be a breath away from madness, but sometimes, he could be surprisingly decent.
“This planet,” Mael said softly, “it has and always will belong to the Vradhu. Our mother’s people. We are the abominations here, the invaders. Or did you somehow forget, brother?”
A sliver of raw pain wound its way through Imril’s heart, mixing with his guilt. “No. I did not forget.” There was a time when he’d tried to forget, when he’d tried to remake his world and erase every trace of the curse that had created them.
Drakhin. Treacherous blood. As time went on, he’d come to detest some of his kin.
He thought of Esania and the way she’d so fiercely protected her tribe, putting her own life in danger for the sake of another.
