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I swallow hard to steady my breath which longs to burst but manage a weak, “Thank you for your help with the Shifter. Offering yourself to the wolf seems more of a misfortune.”
When Narcyssa frowns and turns, I worry I’ve offended her. Forsaking the history section, I follow her to the autobiographies of former kings and queens. Her gown clings to her form like a deep, crimson mist coddling her rich bronze skin. A sweeping train. Long sleeves of ornamental lace. A high neck collar to arrest her throat which accentuates her pointed jaw and cheekbones sharper than scythes along with her blood ruby and obsidian crown. Ever a Queen.
“Would you have preferred I engaged in battle?” counters the Queen, her voice deepening to smoke and daggers. She closes the distance between us, lithe and claw-tipped fingers tiptoeing across my bare arm in a tempting challenge. Her hair engulfs me with the plum aroma of death roses, and I choke a whimper?chest heaving, gown slipping, cleavage deepening.
“Perhaps I could have clawed his muzzle and gored him with my fangs,” she says. “Not only would a battle have guaranteed damage to yourexquisiteflesh,?” her eyes flick down ever so slightly, “?but it would have resulted in a declaration of war. And my Sythe can conquer his Shifter fool and great ego which mirrors his member dysfunction when matched againstmylust in the bedroom.”
She bares her teeth. I hold my breath, pulse thrumming from her claws traveling across the thrumming jugular until she closes her hand of silk and ice around my throat, undaunted by the Kryach’s shadow ink, to solidify, “So, spare me your judgmental mockery. Unless perhaps you would care for a demonstration of preciselyhowI carry the most prayed-to goddess next to Morrygna of Doom?” She taps one claw to my mouth, traces my lower lip, leaning in to cast her tempting breath of wine and blood.
“I?” I croak, besieged by heat tangling in my core, my limbs shaking, nipples puckering with a craving assault. Not even the Nether-mark chases away the fire and ice of my emotions in the presence of the Blood Queen. Such emotions run deeper, weightier with Allysteir. With Narcyssa, everything is on the surface?wild and irresistible. Desire shimmers through me, flushing all my skin, roused by her deadly dance, awakened by the essence of her Goddess. But somehow, I clamp my parted lips, grit my teeth, and ball my hands into fists, waging war against my body. “No, no thank you,” I nearly moan.
I almost follow with,Some other time. Because I hardly object at the thought of the Blood Queen’s masterful and beguiling hands, lips, tongue,stop, Isla!?but beyond my infinite passion, I value a challenge. For her and myself. No, the unconquerable lust of the Blood Queen will not conquermeovernight.
“Hmm...” Narcyssa chortles low from my meager refusal, from the evidence all over my skin, my heated blood. No doubt she scents my arousal and hears my pulse fluttering like a trapped bird. “Your heart is strong, little lioness.”
She eases her hand from my throat, and I exhale, relieved in spite of my aching breasts. I internally chastise them and my whetted sex.
“Most humans would have already fallen to their knees, pledging their undying love to me or begging for the sweet relief my touch can bring.” Simpering, the Queen gestures to my skull. “And it is not simply Death’s mark which gives you strength. As I said, you should bow to no one. But neither will I bow to you.” She seizes my hand and rubs her lips across my knuckles in a farewell. My skin tingles. And erupts with goosebumps the moment her lips flee. “Enjoy the library, little lioness.”
As soon as she turns, I twirl to hide my burning cheeks and budding nipples, my chest heaving from the sultry encounter. Her smoky voice issues one fateful announcement, “And if Master Ibhry perchance bestows his favor upon you, he will welcome you into theUnseenSection.”
A bolt of adrenaline strikes my spine. But when I spin to ask her about the section, the Blood Queen is gone. Nothing but curling shadows and the lanterns snuffed out to plunge the library in darkness. I sigh but turn to Master Ibhry.Master Ivory,I smirk, thankful to Narcyssa for the name.
I lift my fingers to grant the tree my gift until a hand seizes my wrist. A familiar but unwelcome body shoves me against the nearest shelf. I shriek. Pain lances into my back from a bookshelf’s sharp edges.
When Kanat pins my hands above my head as he did on my bed, snarls low in my ear, “I am taking special accolades to spoil you now, sweet bride,” and proceeds to raise the ends of my gown, all my instincts thunder.
Onename,onesingular name flees my lips in the wildest of screams, “Ary!”
I inspectthe dead refters at my feet. Their ruined hearts weep blood over the bridge spanning the channel to the Isle of Bones. The scent of their decomposition and rotted blood permeates the air...no more than my chronic plague.
By now, bone warriors evacuate any visitors, most touring Feyal-Ithydeir families led to Nathyan Gyeal’s center city. On the other side of the bridge, citizens bow to express their gratitude to their Corpse King for his protection. I indulge none. A hundred or so refters are no match for Death’s vessel. Menders tend to the bitten while elders arrive to chant their sacred rites, to cast out any refter venom to preserve the bitten human citizens.
Vexed, I ball my good hand into a fist and slam it against the side of the blackwood bridge, snarling at this invasion. Behind me, Ifrynna snorts and nudges a refter corpse with her right head.
“Never before have so many gathered inside the Underworld,” she muses.
“Not since the ancient wars,” I confirm, press half my lips together, hissing through my exposed teeth.
The remnants of Kryach’s shadow power twist and curl around the dozens of refter bodies. They were no match for such might. A mere annoyance more than anything.A diversion, I conclude.
I stiffen at the thought of how I’d left Isla alone, a tightness growing behind my ribcage until his voice quells my tension.
She is safe,the God of Death alerts me.Fatigued from her day and resting now. But safe.
Of course she is.I curl my upper lip back, dismissing Kryach’s low chortle. He’s never invested this much in a bride. It’s why I could abandon her, knowing beyond any shadow of a doubt he would protect her. But he’s hiding something.
Ignoring the bone warriors, I curl Kryach’s essence, his shadows into the spilled Nether-blood of the refters, seeking a signature, some trace this was no ordinary attack. Ifrynna is too careful to eliminate refter threats before they ever grow to this substantial number. This many never could have slipped past my Guardian’s notice. Which means one thing: someone opened a Nether-portal and released them. Only one goddess possesses the power.
Why?
Go, Allysteir...Kryach directs me, understanding my thoughts, my inclinations. He knows where I must seek answers.
Dismissing the refter blood splattered all over my robes, I heave myself onto Ifrynna’s back and direct the twain Guardian, “Take us into the Void.”
Ifrynna’s eyes shimmer, eager and craving. I suck a deep breath as my Guardian charges across the bridge to the Isle of Bones, her mighty paws resounding thunder and shaking the framework of blackwood and bone.
* * *
