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Around us, within the glass chambers, the souls of the fae stirred and waited. I stretched out my senses, feeling their liminal power.
Something resided. Something lingered.
The man hanging on the wall behind me knew nothing of the true powers of life or death.
Or love.
He simply took and once he had taken his fill, he assumed there was nothing left but husks.
But something remained. Something close to darkness.
What remained wasmine.
I reached out my arms and blackness spiraled again from my fingertips. Every thread of shadow found its mark, feeding into the glass cases that held the remains of my brethren.
Like whips wrought from the abyss itself, I lashed out. With precision, I struck. Thunderous cracks fractured the crystalline prisons. Shattered remnants rained down, bringing with them their long dormant inhabitants.
The fae bodies were muted now, tarnished in the grip of death. Yet still I saw beauty. Their once brightly-colored hair had faded into soft shades of pastel, like the many shades of a rising dawn. Some bore horns and claws, vestiges of their supernatural beauty which had waned in the throes of one mortal man’s greedy power-stripping.
Now I, too, would strip their power. But not for myself.
Slowly but surely, my shadowy coils encircled each body in a dark embrace. The fragile forms trembled, surrendering the remnants of life they'd clung to.
The room filled with a spectral aura as one by one the fae heeded my command, returning to give the last seed of themselves before finally leaving the realm of the living for the one of the dead.
Across the room, my mate’s body began to rise, the runes on her arms shining like liquid silver.
CHAPTER 37 - MORGAN
They were calling tome.
Their voices were a haunting chorus, tinged with an undying kinship.
“Avenge us,” some cried as they faded past the veil. “Vengeance for us all. We beseech you.”
Still others did not beseech, but rather furiously demanded. It was their right, they said.
