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“I’m not so sure about that.”
My temper sharpens my tongue. “Then tell her this realm doesn’t need a coward for its queen.” As Oggie settles in next to Meg, I wonder how much tenacity and toughness it’d taken for her to follow a sentinel demon into the unknown. But I don’t change my answer, even though it makes me the coward.
“Hmph, I’ll do that.” Bess stares at me as if she can see through the darkness to where I hide. Maybe she can. Cows have excellent night vision.
“Keep her safe while I’m gone.”
“As if anyone would dare harm her here.” Now, Bess sounds pissed, and it’s only her belief in my absolute power that has me softening my comeback to her impudence.
“Safe from herself, if need be,” I amend. I don’t need Theo invoking the penalty realm because the human gets hurt. He could take my kingdom. Or what’s left of it, anyway.
“What will happen to the realm if you refuse your match?” Bess asks. “If you two can’t restore the magic?”
“I’ll think of another way.” It’s a lie. Meg’s the only answer. Without her agreeing to become my mate in truth? My realm, and everyone in it, will cease to exist.
5
LEANDER
Nine days away from Meg and I haven’t stopped seeing her everywhere, smelling her scent on my clothes, and hearing her voice before the screams. Gods, the screams. They haunt me. I shouldn’t go home, shouldn’t pursue her, but I can’t help myself. She pulls me through the twists and turns of the labyrinth toward the heart of the maze, toward her like a lodestone. It’s why the journey that should’ve taken two weeks has instead been these nine hellacious days of me pushing past exhaustion into overwhelming mental and magical fatigue. Yet my body plods ahead.
Theo warned me about the endless infatuation that comes with a mate, and I ignored the matchmaker because I’ve had lovers over the centuries. Some don’t mind the monster if the sex gets them riches, power, or fulfills a fantasy. Hell, I’ve had my fair share of relationships with other monsters. Signing on the dotted and spell-enchanted line to meet Meg, I figured the demon was full of shit. Turns out I was wrong. She’s an obsession, a clawing need, a heartbeat I follow into the castle.
I wave away servants who rush forward to offer me food, water, a shower, clean clothes, anything I want. Except they can’t give me the one thing I need. Meg.
What if she hasn’t done well since I left? What if Bess was right about abandoning her? Humans can be such fragile beings. If she stopped eating or drinking, if she has hidden in her room, too scared to venture out, how will I forgive myself?
Or worse, if I drive her to madness with this insane matching idea, it will be my fault, and she wouldn’t be the first human to lose her mind when confronted with the existence of monsters. Theo should’ve prepped her better. A voice in my head nags that I shouldn’t have left her, that I should’ve forced her to reinforce the magic to save the realm. But the memory of her screams chases that logic away.
I quicken my pace, needing to know that she’s safe. According to the matching contract, she belongs to me, and I’m responsible for her wellbeing. Those reasons are enough to justify my hurry in checking on her, as I would care for any property.
A pale figure so slim it could be a wraith steps in front of me, and I skid to a stop, my hooves scuffing against the polished floors. “Belaya?”
She tips forward, and the candle she holds topples from her fingers, falling in a crash course with her billowing white nightgown. Wide grey eyes meet mine, too late. Time rolls in a fog, slowed by days without sleep. I snatch the flame, snuffing it with my hand. For a heartbeat, for a pounding thud in my ears, I don’t feel the pain. Then, scorching agony races through my skin and I bite back a bellow.
“Leander?” Her blue skin goes pale, an almost icy silver. “Oh no.”
“It’s nothing.” Scaring her won’t help anything. Belaya’s dark curls lie limp around her shoulders, and her gaze takes on a glassy sheen over deep purple shadows.
She strokes my arm and mutters an incantation, likely a healing spell in whatever language died with the rest of her world. But no magic means no relief. Losing one’s powers can drain sanity along with the magic. I’m so close to facing the same—except when my realm falls, so will I.
“I’m sorry, sire.” Bess rushes into the corridor. “I swear she was asleep in the tower only moments ago when I checked on her. I’ll take her back there now.”
“My workshop,” Belaya says before sliding into her unknown language again. “I have important work.”
“Rest first.” Bess puts her arm around the other woman’s narrow shoulders. “You can work tomorrow. Come on now.”
I stay put until their steps fade. The stinging in my hand throbs in time with my heart, and I want to plunge it into ice water. If I hadn’t used so much magic to repair the wards, this would be nothing to heal. Instead, every aching muscle and creaking joint seems to radiate the misery of watching my world fade and knowing I can’t do a damn thing to stop it. Without Meg.
Musical laughter rises and falls like a muse’s song. It’s a lure, a tempting spell, and I’m too tired to resist. I follow it into the great hall to find Meg standing beside the fireplace, the flicker of flames dancing over the red in her hair.
The burn on my hand, the possibility of the fire that almost happened in the hallway? It’s ugly and monstrous. Like me. But Meg looks radiant, gorgeous, and happy—as though she belongs here. Gods, as though she could revive my world.
Her laugh wraps around me, the sound pulling me under in a way only magic can. That’s no surprise if she was made for me. Surely, the Fates wouldn’t torment me with a mate who can’t want me a tiny fraction of how much I crave her. Then again, I’ve been cursed since birth, and I’ve made my way in the world in the only way I can, by taking. That doesn’t have to change now.
She glances my way, and her joy fades. Her laughter goes silent so fast that the pop and crackle of the fire booms in the cavernous room. The curve in her lips falls, and her gaze locks on mine. Emotions flash through her eyes, and I can’t read her well enough to decipher the racing moods.
“Meg?” an impatient male voice calls from the high-backed chair that I prefer over a throne.
