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Von’s hand cupped my cheek tenderly. “Stick to the shadows.”
My hand fell over his, determination knitting my brow. “I will.”
Soren gave me a nod, signaling he was ready.
I inhaled a deep breath—this was it.
Von
As I watched her descend into the valley, it took every ounce of willpower not to chase after her. Not to sayfuckthe rescue mission, toss her over my shoulder—surely kicking and screaming—and take her away from this place—away from everything.
When it came to her, everything felt primal. That part of me was relentless in its demands—to protect, to provide. All of it, for her. It was always for her.
At their core, they were basic needs traced back to the dawn of man. Although I was a far cry from a mere mortal, those needs burned tenfold in me. And then some.
“They are nearly down the side of the valley,” Ryker stated, his flame bow still in hand.
Lyra nodded solemnly as she clutched Harper’s side, her wide eyes glued on Sage and Soren. She understood the horrors of what happened in training barracks better than anyone. I had found her in one, much like this one, a few years back, her little body bloody and bruised and broken. I had not expected her to survive, had thought one of my ravens would come to collect her soul soon. And yet . . . she’d proven me wrong.
I turned to Ryker. “See the tent with the soldiers stationed out front?” I’d been watching that tent for well over a day now. It was why I had stayed while Ryker went back to collect the others—to make sure the rat inside didn’t go anywhere.
His eyes shifted over the tents until he found it. He nodded, lifted his bow, and conjured an arrow. “On it.” He nocked the arrow, drew the string back, and released. It launched into the air, soaring up and over the barracks before it bit into the top right corner of the tent.
“Nice shot,” Harper said to her twin, her gaze constantly shifting between what was happening down below and Lyra—who she had tucked safely against her side.
That, right there, was why I had to make a last-minute change to the plan.
Originally, I was going to send Harper with Sage, instead of Soren, but after what happened with Lyra earlier on, I scrapped that idea. Harper would have worried about Lyra the entire time she was down there. It would have made her distracted, eligible for slip-ups—a risk I couldn’t take . . . not that an attentive Soren was much of a better option. But it wasn’t Soren I was betting on. It was Sage’s need to protect him, someone she viewed as a little brother—a stand-in Kaleb. I hoped that factor would keep her from doing anything brash. Then again, this wasmyheadstrong, impulsive Little Goddess we were talking about.
Fuck. I should have gone with her.
I knew all too well what it was like to lose her.
But I wouldn’t lose her again—I’d shred apart all three realms before I let that happen.
That was why I had to stay here—why I couldn’t go with her. Because even though there were multiple threats to her down there, none of them posed as big of a threat asthathalf-breed God of Truth.
Speaking of which . . . I glanced back at the expansive tent, the back of it aflame, encouraging some of the soldiers to come out first, blades held at the ready. The two soldiers that stood at the entrance reached for the tent flaps and pulled them open. The pompous little prick emerged, one gloved hand stroking his red hair.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” I told the others, not waiting for a reply as I let my shadows take me.
A few seconds later and my hand was wrapped around histhroat.
With a great deal of force, I threw the rat right on back into the burning tent he’d just walked out of. I prowled inside, my bone-snapping wind at my back, ensuring none of his soldiers had access to our little reunion—well, unless they wanted their necks broken.
The half-breed slammed into the extra-long table, scattering the maps and papers and tiny wooden soldiers from their slumber. I glanced at one of the little toys these so-calledgrownmen used to plan wars, one skeptical brow raising. Mortal men had fallen a long way from their grunting neanderthal forefathers. Creator above, how I missed those days—life was simple then: kill or be killed. Everyone had gotten soft.
“Blood King,” Arkyn spat the title at me as he slowly peeled himself up off the table, a tendril of red hair falling over his forehead.
“Royal ass licker.” I greeted him. Ignoring the heat that radiated towards me as the flames worked their way down the backside of the tent, I strolled leisurely over to a table, set just off to my right, filled with silver platters of meats, cheeses, breads, and various fruits and vegetables. I searched for an apple and grumbled when I didn’t see one. “I’d fire your cook, if I were you.” I shifted around the cheese platter, purposefully making a mess while not committing to anything. “They forgot the apples.”
I was fucking with him. I would get to the point shortly, so I could get back to watching overmyfemale.
“She’s here, isn’t she?” Arkyn demanded as he took a step towards me.
I ignored him as I rummaged through the cheese platter. Knowing full well that it was an ass clogger, I moved on to the fruit tray. I snapped a grape off the petrified vine, took a bite, and tossed the other half over my shoulder. I plucked another one, repeating the same action.
“Answer me,” Arkyn growled with more bite than I thought he had in him. I would have congratulated him on finally finding his balls, but compliments weren’t really my thing.
