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His expression softened, and he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “You were right about the shadow monsters. We can’t allow Lore to birth them. If they were to harm you... ” He shook his head. “That’s a future I will never allow.”
He jerked, his nostrils flaring with his next inhalation. “I now understand the warning Erebus issued. But it won’t stop me. I caused this situation, and I will end it. To keep you safe, I will give up anything. Even my life.”
30
Azar stared at the femur in his clasp, not wanting to ponder how he’d gotten it and desperate to destroy it. With this bone and its companion added to his collection, he needed only the orb to bestow flesh and blood upon Lore. An orb he was set to obtain within a matter of minutes.
Defenses cracked inside him. The King of Agonies wouldn’t allow his son to die as a prisoner of the Astra. An admirable trait, but one that endangered everyone Azar loved. Because, as soon as Rathbone complied, and he would, their doom was assured. But then, their doom would be assured even if the king refused.
Azar squeezed his eyes shut, hating himself. The highest law of the Astra: if you did not guard it, you could not keep it. He hadn’t guarded his brethren. Or himself.
How had he allowed his life to reach this point? Now there was nothing anyone could do to save themselves. Or stop him. Unless...
Perhaps a hope or two remained. The oracle, and Silver.
Azar glanced at his prisoner. Maximus sat secured to a chair at the end of the conference table, glaring at him. The boy wore Silver’s metal; there was no way he could escape. If there were something Azar could use to bind Lore...
He flashed to Silver’s bedroom, making use of the male’s open invitation. The warlord lounged on a chaise, sketching designs for his next project. He’d shaved the sides of his head and bound his long black hair in braids.
As the metalworker, he made their weapons. Among other things. Of all Astra, Azar had the strongest bond with Silver, the gruffest of the nine. He was a soldier who never allowed his emotions to get in his way. Never deviated from an order or wavered during a mission.
“The crimson king won’t escape us again,” Silver vowed without glancing up. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“His capture matters little.” Only the orb counted at this point.
“Nevertheless, I will bind him tighter than I bind my concubine.”
“You and your challenges.” Azar hesitated before asking what he’d come to ask. “Is there a way to undo an ancient binding spell between two immortals?” No one knew the rules of anything, and how to bend them, better than Silver.
The metalworker, also known as the Fiery One, placed his book on the cushion and sat up. Rare amusement glittered in eyes the same color as his name. “You thinking to cut ties between the king and the goddess?”
Guilt spread its poison across his mind, leaving a thick layer of infection. “I’ve considered it.” But that wasn’t his endgame. The two were no longer tethered. He didn’t let himself consider the real reason he’d asked.
“There’s an elixir touted to create a union stronger than fated mates, but I’ve heard the side effects are devastating. I can research what that means.”
“Thank you.” But he doubted it would do what he needed.
“I wonder if I can forge a collar with some kind of bond-breaking alloy,” Silver muttered, picking up his sketchbook and drawing.
“I must go,” Azar grated. Yes, he truly hated himself.
Silver didn’t hear him, just continued drawing. Azar flashed to the conference room.
A grinning Lore greeted him. She perched atop the long rectangular table, swinging her legs, stunningly beautiful in a recreation of the dress she’d died in: a black-and-white Victorian-era ball gown.
His nerve endings awoke for her, singing. His blood heated. He swallowed a rebuke.
Maximus remained in his chair, shackled and gagged.
“Did you miss me?” she purred, crooking her finger at Azar. “Being away from me, even for a few minutes, must be awful for you.”
He dug in his heels, staying put. For three seconds. In the end, he stepped between her legs.
“I love your resistance.” Chuckling, she ghosted her fingers along his jaw. Though she was in spirit form, he felt the tingle of her touch. “The time has come, darling. I need you fully on my side, not deluding yourself with thoughts of victory.”
He knew of what she referred. Of course he knew. He’d just tried to take measures against it. But even then, he’d separated himself from the truth. “Don’t do this, goddess.”
“Oh, I’m doing it.” Tone indulgent but firm, she said, “Be my good Astra. Put the bone in its sheath, stop trying to forget, and let yourself remember the horrific thing you did.”
