Page 134 of The Bonds of Indigo

“Vendra, I presume?”

“Hmm?” Amarah hums.

Shit.

“Two peas in a pod. Do not speak. You do not understand the Gods link to do so. But yes, that is I.” I could swear she giggles. “Do not be angry at her for keeping you safe. You and she will be fine. Enjoy your time together, she deserves some happiness.”

I glance back just enough to see Amarah’s eyes locked on me. It’s pitch black—too dark for her to see anything—but her indigo irises glow, sharp and piercing with a clear what the fuck expression.

“Did you say something?” I deflect.

She frowns deeper. “Did you say something through the bond?”

Chuckling, I press my back against the cold metal as I guide her past me, pulling her forward.

“You’re hearing things, little slayer.”

“I mean…” she murmurs, turning so her chest drags across mine, slowing as she squeezes past. “I’m definitely hearing music.”

It’s like she’s begging me to stop her. I feel it so strongly that my hand shoots out across the narrow space and cages her in front of me. She bites her lip, pressing her head back against the metal wall.

I lean forward, brushing my knuckles along her jawline, up to her cheek.

“She deserves some happiness.” Vendra’s voice replays in my head. I agree, but not just some. Amarah deserves all of it.

“So am I.”

“And I didn’t hear anything from the bond?” she whispers against my mouth. “Because I swore⁠—”

A loud boom of bass cuts her off.

She turns, startled, and I give her ass a quick swat. “Go.”

She scurries forward, and I stay a step behind as we push through the towering border wall—easily one hundred feet thick, maybe more. The moment we break through, the weak light slipping past the clouds reveals what I can only describe as a post-apocalyptic music festival wasteland.

When I was Mundane, I loved these kinds of events. Went to a few heavy metal shows and EDM carnivals. They were fun. As a Vampire, I’d indulge from time to time, but concerts just didn’t hit the same.

I still love music, though—more progressive metal and alternative rock than whatever the Beyond is playing right now.

“What the…” Amarah sounds just as shocked as I was the first time I saw it.

At least a hundred people are sprinting to our left toward a rusted stage. It looks like an old parking structure long since rotted away, upper levels collapsed and gone, leaving only the first and second floors. A few cars hang dangerously over the edges while a DJ and a female artist hype up the crowd with samples of what’s coming next.

Farther east—the direction we’re heading—is exactly what I expected. It’ll likely get worse the deeper we go, but from here it already looks like a wasteland. The cracked asphalt beneath us stretches into the distance, a faded double-yellow line running under our feet, leading toward a town I doubt has many inhabitants left.

There are weeds and dried grass poking through the cracks, but there’s no green in sight—just browns and tans. The remains of trees are scattered everywhere, but nothing’s left of them except their souls lingering in the decaying trunks.

I feel Amarah reaching for me, so I look down at her.

“We should go.”

Stepping beside her, I wrap an arm loosely around her neck and shrug. “What’s wrong?”

“This feels wrong…”

Her voice is soft, like she doesn’t fully believe what she’s saying. Even if it’s partly true. These people shouldn’t be here, but I imagine that’s part of the thrill. And the ones who love drugs probably love the way the Ashspyte threatens their lives.

I lean down, brushing my lips against her ear. “Don’t like music, little slayer?”