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I gave him a moment to respond, and when it became clear he wasn’t going to, I pressed on with a hiss. “What is it about this blade that has you so . . . conflicted? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Because . . .” His voice dropped an octave as he released the lock of hair. “I’d prefer the blade stayed lost.”
My brows knitted. “Why?”
He caressed my cheek. “Because, like everything with us, even though the blade would bring my salvation, if it fell into the wrong hands, it could mean your demise.”
I cupped his wrist, feeling the powerful veins and hard muscles beneath. “Is the blade like the Crown of Thorns? Is it a weakness to me?”
“No and yes. The Crown of Thorns was a threat to your life, but the Blade of Moram is not, at least not directly. It is who the blade is linked to that makes it your weakness.” His phantom flickered, the bits of shadow that forged it breaking off. For a brief second, I could no longer feel his warmth.
“What’s happening?” I peered up at him, frantic to keep him here with me.
“I can’t hold this form much longer.” His tone struck like whiskey rather than smooth bourbon. “Sage, there’s something else you need to know, and Ireallyneed you to listen to me. The God of Life, you must not trust him. And for Creator’s sake,do notdrink his ichor.” Von sounded desperate. I had never heard him like that before.
“What do you mean?” My hands fisted firmly in his tunic, desperately trying to keep him here with me.
“I mean exactly what I said. Do not trust him and do not drink from him. And above all else—” He kissed me once more, and when he pulled back, he growled predatorily. “Do not forget who you belong with, Kitten.”
And then his phantom was gone.
A short while later, I discarded my coat on the leather chair, grabbed the black tunic that had been tossed carelessly on the corner of his canopy bed, and put it on. His tunic ended at my knees, emphasizing the difference in our heights, and I was not short by any means. I gathered the fabric at the unlaced neckline and brought it to my nose, inhaling deeply. It still smelled of him, of his amber and sandalwood scent.
I snagged the bottle of bourbon from Von’s desk, popped the cork, and brought the cool glass to my lips. Tears pricked my eyes as I drank down a heady amount, the smooth burn awakening the taste buds on my tongue.
If I buried myself in his scent, if I drowned myself in his bourbon, would my beloved Death come back to claim me?
One could only hope.
Sage
“Are you drunk?” asked a familiar voice—chock-full of arrogance and swagger.
I yanked my head up from the plush pillow and squinted at the door, squinted at the hulking guard that stood just outside of it—the one I had never heard speak, until now. His voice sounded a lot like . . .
No.
How could that be possible?
Either Von’s bourbon could give Ezra’s tonic a run for its coin, or . . .
“Ryker?” I asked the beast wrapped in metal.
He took his helmet off, revealing rich brown eyes and that signature cocky grin.
“Hey, beautiful,” he drawled in his chest-rumbling tone.
I sat up quickly—too quickly. My head started to spin. I was a few too many swallows past buzzed, but not nearly enough to be staggering drunk.
He nodded to the bottle sitting on the bed stand. “You going to finish that without me?”
“Nope,” I said, having a little too much liquor-induced fun as I popped thep. I crawled over to the side of the bed, grabbed the bottle by the neck, and extended my arm towards him while seating myself and patting the spot beside me. “How?” I shook my head slowly, narrowing in on the armor he was wearing—on the king’s emblem displayed across his broad chest. “And why?”
He tossed his gauntlets onto the bed, snagged the bottle, and sat beside me, his stiff metal armor making the task more difficult than it should be. “I’m just going to start from the beginning,” he said.
I nodded, waiting.
“After our search for Soren turned up empty, we traveled back to the Cursed Lands to speak with the Elders and Ezra, to try to figure out what our next step was. Ultimately, we decided that if Soren was alive, then he was probably at Clearwell Castle.” Ryker paused, taking a deep pull from the bottle before he continued. “While deliberating on how to get Soren back, we received word that the king had been hiring and training mass amounts of new guards and bringing them directly to the castle. As you can imagine, it didn’t sit well with the Elders, nor any of us.” He lengthened his arm and peered at the amber liquid inside the bottle, studying it as if he were looking at an old friend he hadn’t seen for a while. “But since I’ve been here, I’ve noticed that the castle guards are sorely lacking—it’s like anyone with any experience is gone, like they’ve been shipped off somewhere.”
