AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A fierce wave of protectiveness sweeps over Nur, surprising him with its strength. “Why are you so desperate to return there?”
All the softness leaves Arsene’s face, and suddenly the moonlight turns him to cold marble. The warmth around Nur disappears as Arsene’s wings fold back into the aether.
“Because all I’ve ever wanted is a mate.”
Nur’s emotions curdle in his stomach. “A real vergis.”
“Yes.” Arsene’s gaze is unreadable. “And I always believed there was only one path to that goal.”
“Of course,” Nur says woodenly.
“Now though…I can’t help wondering if I’m worthy of being a real primus.”
Nur can’t even muster up a snide comment about how if a ‘real’ primus is aristocratic, stubborn-minded, and quick to anger, Arsene will of course be perfect for the job. The joke sours on his tongue. He turns away, wrapping his arms around his knees. Instead of finding the calm he was looking for he’s unbalanced. As always.
“I suppose it’s your watch,” Arsene says after a while. “Though I can stay and keep you company. It’s eerily quiet out here when you’re alone.”
“You can go.” Nur shrugs him off.
“If you’re sure?”
He hears the frown in Arsene’s voice, but he refuses to look him in the eye. “I’m sure.”
“Come find me in the morning…to feed.”
Nur nods shortly. It’s humiliating enough he sought out the angel’s company. Worse to be reminded, yet again, that no one in their right mind would want a bond with him.
Arsene’s boots crunch on the stone as he stands. A moment later, something warm drapes around Nur’s shoulders—Arsene’s coat, an ornately embroidered thing that was probably once gorgeous, but now is dusty and worn with the journey and smells of sweat and musk. He looks up, but Arsene is already disappearing over the ledge.
When the angel’s footsteps have faded, Nur pulls the coat off his shoulders and buries his face in it.
Chapter 27
ARSENE
The Deadlands makeArsene miss home with an unparalleled ache. New Yden is lush and full of life. This space where the realms merge into uneasy confluence is utterly empty. No insects call at dusk. No vultures circle overhead. Not even scrub grass grows on the hillsides. The stars of Old Yden sing in his head constantly—constellations that are strangers to him yet drag on his soul like a tide.
Arsene feels small among the looming rocks. It’s not a feeling he’s comfortable with.
But there’s another, more pressing problem: the road into Hell. Having come south, they either need to cross the road or travel around the back side of Mount Hythe. The road is oft-traveled by companies of demon soldiers, but the caravan may not be able to afford a detour.
“We cannot go around the mountain,” Myra tells him, confirming his fears. “We’d have to double back to reach the city. It would stretch our supplies too far. More importantly, the people will want to stop on the road and pay homage to our lost souls. It’s important to all of us.”
She looks exhausted already, her skin scraped dry by the wind and the poison dust, her eyes dark and wary.
“Demons will attack without respect to your customs,” he tells her.
“They’re not mindless monsters,” Myra disagrees.
He snorts, but she’s serious. “They’re violent warmongers!”
“They’re not what you think.” Beside her, Josi speaks up. “Not to us. They come into Midtown sometimes, on the run from the war and seeking asylum. My father was an advocate for them. He ensured they’d be allowed to hold jobs, have a government number, that sort of thing.”
“Your father rehabilitated deserters of the demon army?” Arsene frowns in disbelief. “Intohumansociety?”
“They’re tortured souls,” the girl insists, her cheeks reddening. “They deserve another chance at life.”
Arsene shakes his head in disbelief, but with Myra’s eye on him he doesn’t dare scoff openly at the girl’s naivete. He’s seen more demons on the battlefield than the whole caravan combined. He’s seen them throw themselves headlong onto a sword just to get close enough to land a blow. Abandon the bodies of their own to the vultures. Send dozens after dozens into the same trap to die.
