And this time, she kept her damn hands up.
Chapter 33
He could see, hear, and feel, but the thoughts swirling in his mind, the words slipping from his lips, were not entirely his own. He sat upon the cold black stone of the dais, positioned beside her… His queen, his woman. She was breathtaking, draped in dark silks, a crown of black obsidian and gleaming gems resting atop her silken white hair.
He spent most of his time watching her, studying how she moved, the effortless command she held over the room. One by one, demon warriors entered to report on the state of the land: disruptions, victories, the successful acquisition of new Noskari. They were grotesque, twisted things—leathery gray skin stretched tight over their muscular frames, with pulsing black veins writhing beneath the surface. Their soulless black eyes remained fixed on one figure alone: Vaelora.
Her name ignited something within him, a warmth coursing through his veins despite the cold pallor of his skin. Outwardly, he was unchanged, his complexion pale, his body chilled, but inside, he burned for her. His eyes had darkened like hers, like the Noskari, and he embraced it. Welcomed it. He was no longer who he had been. He was something more. Something powerful. And with every word she spoke, every glance she bestowed upon him, she tightened the chains around his soul, binding him to her in ways he no longer resisted.
She did not see a boy when she looked at him. No, she saw a man, and he was hers.
It was more than control. More than devotion. It was possession. She commanded not just his body but his very mind, shaping his thoughts, twisting his desires with nothing more than a look, a touch, a whisper.
And he did not fight it.
He would give himself over completely, drowning in the intoxicating pull of her presence, if only to remain in this existence forever. But were those truly his wants? Or was something still buried deep within him, something that resisted, however faintly?
“My queen,” a voice rasped, cutting through the haze in his mind.
One of her Noskari stood before them, his darkened eyes locked onto Vaelora. She tilted her head slowly.
“Yes…?”
“I’ve received word that the girl has been seen beyond the southern territories.”
He avoided naming her, but there was a deliberate meaning behind his words, a silent warning that Cillian was not meant to know who she was.What girl?Cillian thought distantly, the question flitting through his mind before slipping away like smoke.
“Where?” Vaelora hissed.
The Noskari flinched as tendrils of inky black mist curled from her fingertips, coiling and writhing like living things. “Mokkvyrn Forest,” he answered quickly. “She’s traveling with a wolf pack.”
Vaelora’s eyes flashed with something darker, something lethal. “Which pack?”
“The Ironwolf, Your Grace.”
“And she was left alive?” Vaelora spat.
The Noskari bared his teeth in a low snarl, black veins pulsing with frustration. “Our scouts in the area reported that the pack arrived too soon. They were outnumbered before the task could be finished.”
Vaelora let out a slow, dramatic sigh. “I can’t open another portal to retrieve her,” she said. “I drew too deeply on my magic when I pulled my…loverthrough.” Her eyes slid to Cillian, a purr in her tone.
He stiffened. She’d opened a portal? All he recalled was the warmth of her kiss and a glimmer of golden light flickering through his mind before darkness had claimed everything.
The witch queen exhaled again, and a wicked smile curved her lips. “Perhaps,” she said, almost lazily, “it’s time we send another message.”
Cillian stayed quiet, watching. Listening. Because there was no room for questions here. Vaelora allowed none. And still, something in him twisted.
Who was this girl the queen wanted dead so badly? And why did something deep in his hollowed soul stir at the mention of her?
***
The vast clearing spread before them, the eastern reaches of Centaro opening wide after their long escape from Mokkvyrn Forest. For nearly a week they had crossed the quiet expanse of the Sunmere Stretch, and Alaric relished its stillness after the forest’s tangled depths. The Stretch was a bridge between wilderness and the world beyond—and with its end in sight, civilization lay ahead.
Centaro felt like an entirely different world from the one they had left behind. Soon, they would arrive in Cindermoor, where settlements and people awaited. But for now, it was just them, the pack and the endless open land rolling in golden waves beneath the sky, broken only by the occasional treeline on the horizon.
Throughout the journey, Alaric had watched Evelyne change completely. She was relentless with waking at dawn, training untilher muscles shook, and mounting her horse with unwavering determination. He knew the search for her brother drove her forward, pushing her past exhaustion, but there was something else, too.
jouShe was growing into her strength, and for the first time, it seemed like she was learning to love it. She took the training seriously. Fiercely. And though she had suffered a few bruises and a busted nose from her early missteps, she had improved. Alaric had also become sharper and faster—learning the nuances of hunting and surviving in the wild. He had always loved the outdoors, but now he saw the world beyond what had been allowed in the south.
