Page 36 of She Who Holds My Wrath

Flame erupts at my wrists—white and searing—and the shadows recoil, hissing in fear and disgust. The sword blazes in my hand again, carved of light and fury as Talia’s figure dissolves in the blaze, her scream still ringing in my skull.

I stagger upright. “I am not your prisoner,” I snarl into the dark. “Not anymore.”

The walls split like open wounds, bleeding light so fierce I have to shield my eyes. The brightness pours through the factures in blinding streams, white and violent, swallowing the darkness that had wrapped around me moments before. I raise an arm over my face, squinting through my fingers as the glow spills across the ground in jagged rivers.

Something moves within it. At first, it’s only a shadow, tall and unmoving, its outline blurred by the glare. The light bends strangely around the figure, as though it can’t decide whether to reveal him or hide him. My breath catches. The shape sharpens slowly, piece by piece, like a long-forgotten memory forcing its way back into focus.

Broad shoulders. A towering frame that cuts through the light like a blade through silk. Then something darker crowns the silhouette. Two curved shapes rising above his head, sharp against the brilliance behind him. Horns.

My heart stutters violently in my chest. The figure shifts, stepping forwards through the blinding glow, and the light finally catches his face. Eyes like obsidian ruin meet mine. And suddenly—I know exactly who stands before me.

“Korithax?” My voice breaks on his name.

But before I can take a step, the ground cracks beneath me. A violent fracture splits the stone at my feet, racing outward like lightning tearing through the earth.

“No—”

I plummet. Falling, falling, falling. The light above me fractures into shards and I drop through the darkness. Wind tears past my ears, ripping the breath from my lungs. The sword slips from my hand, spinning away into the abyss. I reach upward instinctively. And he moves.

Korithax lunges forwards, his hand shooting out towards me, fingers stretched desperately through the widening gulf between us. The light behind him flares wildly, outlining the sharp angles of his wings, the dark curve of his horns. When I hit the bottom, the world goes silent again. His face… gods, his face. Gone is the wicked amusement, the cruel confidence that so often danced there. Instead, there is something raw and frantic carved into his expression. Desperation.

His mouth moves. He’s shouting something. I can see the words forming, see the tension in his jaw, the strain in his throat as he calls to me. But I can’t hear him. The roar of the void swallows everything.

“Korithax!” I scream, reaching for him. My fingers stretch towards his outstretched hand, the distance between us shrinking to mere inches. So close. Close enough that I swear I can feel the heat of him, the faint brush of air stirred by his movement. But the darkness pulls harder. His fingers scrape against mine for the briefest moment. Impossible. I have been falling for what feels like hours. Yet he’s always out of grasp. Just inches too far.

And then, the abyss takes me. I fall faster than ever. The light above shrinks to a distant star before disappearing entirely. When I hit the bottom, the world goes silent again. The dark wraps around me, softer this time. Heavy like a deep sleep. The visions scatter like ash caught on the wind, drifting farther and farther from my reach until nothing remains. I am nothing again, just suspended. Waiting.

Chapter 18

VELENTHA

Ican’t hear anything except the rush of blood pounding in my ears, and my heart hammering so hard it feels like it could break free from my chest and fall to the floor.

I don’t dare look up. I keep my hood low, shielding my face from the leaders in the room until Aran tells me otherwise. I focus on the way his hand holds mine, bruising yet reassuring. The way both of our palms are slick with sweat, anxiety building with every breath that leaves my lungs.

“Make no mistake,” Aran growls, his voice a low, dangerous snarl that fills the chamber. “I may not be a leader or a god, but if anyone so much as threatens my mate, I will spill blood. You will hear her out before you make any decisions. And only then, will you speak.”

I’ve never heard him speak like this before. And gods help me, even though my life could be ended here with a flick of someone’s wrist, a traitorous part of me finds the way my husband commands the room… intoxicating. I squeeze my thighs together to try and alleviate the ache building at the way he is dominating the room right now.

“My aeshira,” Aran murmurs, drawing me to his side. His hand squeezes mine, warm and reassuring. “Remove your hood.”

I take a long, shaky breath. My free hand rises shakily and pushes the fabric back. I have stood in rooms with the Divine for centuries, stared into the eyes of beings who could destroy worlds, but I have never felt this unsettled. The leaders of the realms despise the Six, and likely despise me for standing at their side, even if my only role was to reveal possibilities, and be a secret spy. I was never cruel to any leader. I just offered truth and stood in the shadows as they taunted.

Soft gasps ripple through the chamber. A sudden sound of a chair scraping harshly across the floor draws my attention to Vor’Khar, standing abruptly. His massive frame crackles with lightening as his pure white eyes stare into mine with nothing short of pure hatred. The distant sound of thunder rolling through the realm fills the room, his unstable power taking over the atmosphere almost instantly.

“Vor’Khar!” Elyistria snaps, her voice sharper than I’ve ever heard it. White light blooms at her palms, power spilling from her fingers. “Sit down and let her speak.”

He snarls, his fists curling so tightly I can hear the faint crack of his bones. The sound is sharp—a physical manifestation of the fury coiled inside him to match the thunderous booms outside. For a moment, I think he might ignore the command entirely. That he might unleash the storm I can see raging beneath his skin. I suddenly feel like the thunder might be the least concerning part of this man’s power. I know he’s the ruler responsible for natural disasters. I know everything about every ruler here. This man could effectively ruin this realm without breaking a sweat. But, with visible effort, he forces himself still. The tension in his shoulders remains, rigid as iron, but he obeys.

Relief loosens my spine just a fraction, a quiet breath escaping my lungs as the weight of the room shifts ever so slightly. Knowing that someone still has control here, steadies the fragile thumping inside my chest.

“You bring a traitor among us and expect us to hear her out?” Kaelith sneers, the constellations in his eyes flickering wildly as he looks over me like I’m nothing but pure filth.

“You will listen, Duskwalker,” Aran growls, “or I’ll end you where you sit.”

Kaelith scoffs, rising to his feet. He plants his palms against the table, his lip curling back to reveal too white teeth. “I’d love to see you try, guard dog. You’re nothing but a serving bitch to a dead king.”

Aran moves fast. I don’t catch what he’s done until a sharp sound of wood splintering sounds through the room. I blink, stunned, my gaze following the sound. A silver dagger glints from the back of Kaelith’s chair, pinning his heavy fur-lined cloak to the now splintered wood.