Luella made a surprised, shocked sound. Az dropped an oar, the other raising from the water, droplets trickling from the wooden end as he held it up like a weapon. Graves was silent behind her.
"What is your business here?" one of the Fallen spat, his bare chest tanned, water racing down his honed muscles as he held the spear out toward them. His dark hair fell to his shoulders.
Vale held up a hand, a silent plea for stillness, and the Fallen near him poked the spear closer in warning.
Luella couldn’t see well with her hood, too scared to make any sudden movements. Fingertips brushed over her lower spine atop her cloak, as Graves silently granted her comfort; her wings trembled, rustling the fabric in a fragile whisper. The Fallen closest to her turned his head at the noise, dark brown eyes filled with threats as he flew, wings sending water flying up as the spear in his hands was shoved against her, the tip a hair’s breadth away from her neck.
The other Fallen drew closer to the rest of Luella’s Vincire, trapping them.
The male who had first spoken snarled, "Speak or die, intruders."
The spear’s tip grazed her jugular, warm blood trickling down her neck. She tipped her head back, trying to get away from it and the prick of pain. Her wide blue eyes searched for Bastian, finding the vampire snarling, eyes flashing, but trapped with a spear held against his own neck, the blade digging in.
Tharen’s jaw clenched, and Vale hissed, low and menacing, green eyes deadly as they both looked to her—the spear at her throat, and the small line of blood trailing down from the cut.
"Do not touch her," Vale snarled.
How were they going to get out of this? What were they going todo?
"I don’t think they like it when we mess with this one," the Fallen with the spear at her throat observed, trailing the tip up under her chin, forcing her head further back, her hood nearly falling off.
The darkness made it hard to see, but a glimmer of curiosity shone within the Fallen’s brown eyes.
"Apprehend them," the leader said, head inclined toward her, "but leave that one unharmed."
"W-wait," she stuttered softly, forcing the spear deeper against her neck. Az’s answering growl to her fear rumbled from his chest, raising the hairs on her neck.
The boat rocked, and the Fallen stared behind her, to Graves. The tip of the spear fell, hovering over her chest—not quite touching.
Luella turned, watching as Graves unfurled from his spot, standing tall and shrouded in his hood and cowl. Utterly covered. He pushed back his hood, revealing his deep black hair. Then, he tugged down his cowl below his chin, the shadow of unshaven hair along his jaw making him appear gruff, the scar cutting through the side of his mouth fading as it curved upward.
Gasps rippled through the air, and her wide eyes found the warrior Fallen, disbelief and reverence filling their faces.
The air seemed to hold its breath.
"Prince Sorren Graves Damaris," the Fallen whispered, trembling with awe, "You’ve come home."
PART II
ISLES
27
LESS OF A GOD
THE TENEBRAE
At the large windows overlooking the dips of the moon-touched mountain range of Lunaria, home to the castle of the kingdom of Luna, the conqueror King stood.
He watched.
And he waited.
Moonlight streaked the cliffs in bands of white and blue, highlighting their harsh edges. Grey mountains stretched upward, their tips dusted with snow. Beyond, the rocks gave way to lush valleys, fields of flowers, and rippling lakes. Further still, at the southern point of the kingdom, the land gave way to the sea. And beyond that…
He smiled.
Nowhere was safe from him.
