Chapter 3

CHAPTER3

We walk for a long while, absorbed by the fog as we progress further from the bay, stopping only briefly when we pass the Resurrection Chamber to pick up the waiting soldiers who follow a careful distance behind us. Urtur catches up and leads the way, his amber eyes reflecting on the haze. Crawlers pass us now and then but stay obscured by the mist. Everything around us is quiet, quieter than I’ve ever heard here before. But I feel them. The presence of souls, their thoughts pushing on the veil I try to keep between us to separate my mind from theirs. And watchful eyes, observing our presence from the cover of silence. I’m not sure if they’re demons, or beasts, or souls, or maybe something else altogether. Perhaps even memories and fears, breathed to life from imagination.

We continue past House Urbigu, down the streets until I don’t see the looming shapes of buildings anymore. It feels like there’s open space beyond the twilight fog, like things growing and living. But I can’t see them past the road, only the grass that lines its edges and the occasional shrub with dark green leaves that have probably never seen real sun.

Gradually, the road lifts up a hill. The surface is more pitted and crumbling with lack of use and maintenance. I hear the sea in the distance to my right, crashing against stone.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“You’ll see. Almost there.”

We turn off the road down an overgrown path. It’s only a few more moments of climbing the hill before a ruined building takes shape, rising through the fog at the edge of a silver cliff. The mist is thinner here and rolls on a breeze that carries the faint scent of sulfur and the sea.

The facade of the structure has crumbled away, but even still, I can tell it was once a beautiful, palatial home. The hewn edges on the broken stone were once carefully cut and smoothed, and what still stands remains level on a solid foundation. There’s no glass in the windows, no door on the rusted hinges. But when we step inside, the essence of this place still hums with the memory of usefulness, like it’s proud of what it once was. Maybe even like it hopes for what it could be again.

Ashen orders the Shub Lugal to form a perimeter before he leads us through the door and into a foyer where greenery has taken up much of the empty space. There’s a path through it, worn but not frequently used, sparse blades of grass poking through the channel of dirt. A massive fireplace is nestled into the wall on the left. A torn tapestry flutters down the opposite wall, the image too dirty to be visible through the damaged threads. Ashen pays none of it any attention. He’s been here before, looked at it all.

“What is this place?” I ask as we start to climb a wide set of winding stairs.

“Truthfully, I cannot be sure. It fell into ruin before my time. Some say Eshkar had a wife before Imogen, and that it belonged to her. Others say it’s a relic of the gods. But I just think of it as mine. No one else ever comes here but me.”

“Why not?”

Ashen shrugs, his hand still clasped around mine as we continue up the stairs. “Most demons like order. Things in their place. Things that are new and glossy and opulent. Not things that are broken.”

“Most demons,” I say, repeating his words. “Is that why you like me? You like broken things?”

I don’t mean anything by the joke other than to rib Ashen like I usually do, or at least I don’t think so. But he wheels on me, pinning me with a fierce look that has me taking a step back in reflex. My back touches the cold stone.

“No, vampire. That is not why.” Ashen’s gaze inflames my skin. Hot blush floods my cheeks. He watches as it flares and fades away. “You have never been broken.”

I swallow, memories of the cage beneath the Kur surfacing like a bloated corpse. “Are you sure?”

“You’re here, the Queen of the Shadow Realm. Not even this place could break you, and now it is yours. So, you tell me.” I make no counter argument as Ashen’s fingers trace the line of my cheek. He grasps my jaw, keeping my gaze fused with his. “You are the strongest person I have ever known, my vampire. The furthest thing from broken.”

I swallow as though drinking down those words to store them like a precious spell against future darkness. When the heat in his eyes subsides, Ashen pulls away and takes my hand once more, leading me in his wake.

We reach a landing, and the space opens to a wide patio embraced by the veiled sky and the cliffs jutting up around the high retaining walls. Silver stone arches flow at regular intervals ahead of us like whale bones, a frame for the most beautiful display of art I’ve ever seen.

A garden of sculptures and blooms.

Like anything in the Shadow Realm, it has a haunted quality about it. Lush, deep green leaves that seem a bit too dark flow alongside the walls and beneath the feet of the subjects of the sculptures. Some are made of stone, some are metal. Copper, polished to keep the green patina from dulling their shine. Brass, buffed until it glows despite the dim light. Some are even terracotta, more blocky than their kin, their style ancient and symmetrical.

The statues are laid out along a winding path that’s framed by unlit lanterns. Orchids hang suspended from the arches like stars. Massive dahlias light the shadows with colorful blooms. Unfamiliar crimson flowers as large as my fist peek from the shadows, beckoning me to pluck their velvet petals. The twisted branches of low, ornamental trees reach out toward the path as though calling us closer with their long fingers. And in the center of the entrance to the garden, a trickling fountain of black stone, the water flowing from the shoulders of a kneeling man, his head bent. I can almost feel the weight of regret and sorrow and loneliness pressing on his back.

“Ashen…” I whisper, letting go of his hand to take a step on the curved path. “You did this?”

It takes him a long moment before he answers. “Yes.”

I reach out to the fountain figure, the water of his wings rolling across my fingers. “How long have you spent creating this place?”

“I don’t know exactly. A very long time,” Ashen says as he takes a step toward me, laying a lighter in my palm. He nods toward the first statue and its lantern. It feels like he’s giving me a key to his soul. “Go ahead.”

I look at the cool metal in my hand for a long moment before I curl my fingers around it. I start down the path. I light the lantern next to a terracotta soldier, a man dressed for battle, his armor like layers of fish scales. His almond eyes and long beard give the impression of ancient wisdom, like an apothecary or a warlock. I tstay long enough to ake in the details and then walk to the next figure. It’s limestone, worn and repaired in places where the rain must have battered her figure over centuries of time. Her hands are folded in front of her stomach, her head is turned to the side but it’s that of a lioness.

“A witch. A shapeshifter,” I whisper, skimming my fingers down the line of her arm. I look back at Ashen and he nods. I light her lantern and move toward the next figure.

Each sculpture grows more detailed, the techniques more refined, the materials and tooling more precise. There’s a bronze statue like the Capitoline Wolf, but rather than Romulus and Remus suckling from her engorged teats, there are three half-wolf, half-human young crouched beneath her lithe body. Werewolves. And later, a stone image of a man with long fangs in his gaping mouth, his hand outstretched to the viewer in a desperate plea for mercy. I light his little lantern and pause to wonder which one of my sisters turned him into a vampire.

I keep making my way deeper into the garden, lighting a fire for each soul captured along the way. Ashen follows me like a shadow until I near a marble statue, the detail so stunning and lifelike that it crushes the breath right out of my chest. It’s as though Ashen has been refining this sculpture for centuries, never fully satisfied with the minute details.

I know why.

Because he felt like it could never capture the depth of his grief.

I press my lips together. I try to keep the tears trapped against my eyelashes, but they can’t be contained. One by one, they crest the dam to fall across my skin.

This sculpture is a woman in white marble, a veil obscuring her downturned face. Even though I can’t see her eyes, I know exactly where she’s looking. She’s gazing at a beautiful baby, his head nestled in the crook of her elbow, his chunky leg draped over her arm. The baby’s tiny hand reaches up toward her, never able to touch his mother’s face.

It’s Davina. And the child she and Ashen almost had.

My fingertips are so cold against my lips. It’s such a beautiful regret. A stunning sorrow. A loss Ashen couldn’t possibly have fathomed in that moment when his sword felt too heavy with the weight of two souls in his hand.

This demon who captures more of my heart with every moment that passes, he’s spent centuries of time punishing himself for something beyond his control.

There’s only one lantern at this statue. I light it. And then I bend down and gather broken twigs and crisp, dead leaves. I place them in a mound on the baby’s rippling blanket and light a second flame. I run my hand over the infant’s cool head, trying so hard to imagine the wisp of hair and the scent of milk and the soft skin that could have warmed Ashen’s palm. I place a kiss to the baby’s forehead and then move away, tears still stinging in my eyes.

There are more statues, some becoming a little more abstract the closer we get to the end of the path. The style and materials become more modern. Some even include objects scavenged in the Living Realm, like a werewolf draped in a torn leather jacket, or a witch who holds a delicate ampule in her carved hand. I light each lantern, and then round a curve in the path to the last statue. I feel that ripple of Ashen’s anxiety beneath my skin and I press my hand to the scepter on my chest.

This statue is alive.

There’s no lantern. It doesn’t need one. The gold leaf within the glass sculpture catches even the dimmest light, illuminating the work from within. Metallic seams of color infuse the glass, from bright crimson to teal to fuchsia to deep, shimmering purple. She looks like she’s dancing on a bed of wind orchids, raised on the ball of one foot with her hand pitched behind her for balance. But her other hand lifts a glass sword, striking out toward an unseen opponent. Her face is covered by a golden mask.

I know exactly who she is.

“It’s me,” I whisper, touching the smooth line of my arm in glass.

That current of Ashen’s anxiety hums beneath my skin. “Yes.”

“You’re nervous to show me. Did you think I wouldn’t like it?”

Ashen pauses for a long moment. I look at him over my shoulder. His gaze is caught on the statue, his eyes following the lines of his art. “I thought you would think it strange.”

“Strange?..”

Ashen shrugs. He’s still not able to meet my eyes. “Like some kind of stalker shrine.”

I laugh, and finally he looks at me. “A stalker shrine? No, Ashen. You’d need more candles and grainy black and white photos and magazine cut-out collages for that.” I give him a fleeting smile before I face the statue once more, my lips parted in awe as I touch the golden mask. “It’s stunning. Magical. Not strange. When did you do this?”

“When I left Sanford,” he says, stopping next to me. I feel him watching as I take in every tiny bubble and spark of color in the glass. “I thought I could stay away. As it turns out, I could barely manage four days.”

I tilt my head, regarding him with an accusatory smile. “But when we first went to Ediye’s, you said you couldn’t travel to the Shadow Realm without me.”

“I lied.” A sheepish smile crosses the Reaper’s face, his gaze drifting away from mine. He shrugs. “The bond magic was uncomfortable the first time we separated, but really I just did not want to part from you.”

A teasing little tsk passes my lips before I let him off the hook and turn my attention back to the statue. “That tattoo did get pretty itchy. I contemplated chewing my arm off.”

Ashen’s hand comes into view and I follow the line of his pointing finger. I look closer at the sculpture’s outstretched arm wielding the sword. Sunu liiktisuma is etched on the surface of the glass.

“If it was just that, I could have stayed away,” Ashen says, moving incrementally closer. “It wasn’t as unpleasant as not being able to see your animated expressions, or the irritation in your eyes when I knocked on your door every day, or the way you swept up everyone in that town without ever saying a word. It was magnetic. It was…adorable.”

I snort a laugh and turn to Ashen. My amusement momentarily flees as I catch the heated look in his eyes. I swallow and give him a doubtful glance before flicking my gaze back to the statue.

“Adorable. Are you sure that’s not in the same category as ‘cuddle’?”

Ashen comes closer still. His attention is honed on me as though nothing else exists. I can’t keep my gaze from straying back to him. “I’m sure, vampire. Your irritation was definitely adorable, particularly when it boiled over and you threw it back at me, burrowing under my skin. In all my immortal life, I’ve never been as simultaneously enraged and enthralled by anyone.”

“Someone had to put you in your place, you know,” I say, raising my chin to give him a haughty look. “You strode around the Swan like the hottest piece of ass to ever walk through its doors.”

A devious smile lifts one corner of Ashen’s lips. “Your colleague Anna certainly thought so.”

I gasp. Actually gasp. Jesus. What a fucking amateur move of me. I smack his shoulder and bite down on my lip to punish myself for the flame of rage that eats through my flesh and colors my skin with blush. Ashen’s smile broadens and he laughs. He feels that burst of jealousy through our mark. Motherfucker.

“You’re such a dick, you know that, right?”

Ashen’s arm snakes across my back. His other hand sweeps my hair over my shoulder so he can nestle a kiss to my throat. “You know I was only trying to see if you felt anything at all for me aside from mistrust and the urge to bathe in my blood. When you stalked off to find that groundskeeper for a card game, I figured there might be more for me than just malice there.”

My hands slide up Ashen’s arms even though I try to hang onto my irritation. He presses one lingering kiss after another to my pulse as he guides us further down the path, one step at a time.

“You’re mistaken,” I say, a blatant lie. “I only wanted to bathe in your blood. And maybe kill you with a toilet brush.”

Even despite my words, I still hop up to wrap my legs around Ashen’s back and my arms around his neck. I tilt my head to the side to luxuriate in his hot kisses. I rake my fingernails through his dark hair and he moans into my skin.

“What about now?” he whispers between nips and licks and kisses my neck.

“Huh?”

Ashen’s smile warms my jaw. “Killing me. Bathing in my blood.”

“Oh...yeah. That’s…” I trail off, my words breathless as Ashen’s hand sweeps the silk robe open across my thigh, his rough palm scouring up my leg until he grips my ass, holding me closer. His erection presses through the seam of his pants and sets my core aching with need. “Killing. That’s umm… It’s…something.”

“Vampire,” Ashen whispers. He takes my earlobe between his teeth and I shiver. “You seem to be distracted.”

“It’s been a day.”

“It has. And it’s not over yet,” Ashen says with a wicked edge to his voice. It cuts through the swell of the pulse humming in my ears. “It’s far from over, in fact.”

“You sound like a man with a plan.”

“Maybe.”

“A demon with semen.”

“Dear Christ.”

“A Reaper carpet eater?..”

Ashen pauses. He pulls away and meets my eyes. I can’t help snickering and he bursts out into the most uninhibited laugh I’ve ever heard him make. It resonates in his chest. It vibrates right through my heart, shaking off every clinging worry and fear like they were never more than dust.

“Vampire. I wonder what I would find if I lived in your mind for just a day,” he says as he sets me on my feet, his hand hot on my backside. The essence of his smile is still etched into the corners of his eyes. Those faint lines are an echo, like music clinging to the source.

“It would terrify you, I’m sure.”

“I used to think so.”

I look up at Ashen with a lopsided grin. “Not anymore?”

“No,” he says. “Not anymore, my vampire.” His smile fades, and mine does too. Only desire is left behind in Ashen’s eyes, vibrant in the gold flecks that glow as though panned from the silt of a riverbed.

Ashen takes my hand and leads us to a stone-fronted structure at the end of the path, pushing through an aging door that creaks on rusted hinges. It’s a greenhouse, maybe once an orangery, though the fruit trees have long since disappeared, replaced with lush, wild ferns that line the edges of the room with their feathery tendrils. There’s a patchwork above us of old glass and wood panels where Ashen must have repaired broken panes. A massive four poster bed with a carved mahogany headboard lies angled in the center of the space beneath three undamaged skylights, fog rolling across them in slow, curling eddies.

“Sex sheets!” I squeal, jumping on the balls of my feet with a happy clap. I let out a delighted squeak and bound away from Ashen to flop down on the slick covering of the mattress. “My pretties, I missed you so much.” My hands coast across the surface of the bed like a face-down snow angel. Ashen’s scent is faint in the fibres, mixed with the smell of salt on the wind, of green shoots pushing through moist soil. Tobacco and mint. It’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled. I smile against the silken strands.

I flip over with a deep, satisfied sigh, trailing my hand across the midnight blue silk. I watch as Ashen pulls off his black armor and shirt. He climbs up next to me and I yank him down so his weight settles onto my body, infusing my chest and belly with warmth.

“Do you like this place, vampire?” Ashen asks.

I drag my hands up the bunched muscles of his back. “I love this place, Reaper.”

Ashen leans back and searches my face. There’s something vulnerable about the way the gold flecks in his cognac eyes catch the dim light. “What if it was ours? If we rebuilt it?”

It takes me a moment to answer. It’s been so long since I had a home. Even Anthemoessa didn’t belong to just me. I was the last of the sirens to wash up on the shore. At one point, it was home to all my sisters too, until we gradually dispersed like seeds on the wind. And I was abandoned there, don’t forget. I’m only Leucosia of Anthemoessa because my memory of my homeland was wiped clean from my mind. It’s the place my life started anew. The thought of the Shadow Realm offering me a refuge, a home of my own, is difficult to fathom.

Except it’s not the realm that really matters. It’s what I want. Who I want to be with. Who I want to be.

I trace my finger down the straight line of Ashen’s nose, over his mouth, down his chin, along the angle of his jaw. “Only if this room is the first one we fix.”

Ashen’s eyes fuse to my lips. His smile grows, a bloom unfurling in the morning light.

“All right.”

“And we don’t get rid of the plants.”

“Okay, vampire.”

“We add more plants.”

“If you wish.”

“And a dog bed for Urtur.”

“But he snores—”

“And a dog bed for Urtur.”

“All right, vampire.”

“And we fix every skylight,” I say, reaching up toward the ceiling.

“Any other requests?” Ashen asks, no hint of irritation in his voice, only indulgence. I grasp his face between my palms. My gaze shifts between his beautiful, warm eyes.

The executioner who could have destroyed me. The hunter who could have slain me.

The demon who loves me.

“Only one, Reaper. Show me just how great these sex sheets can really be.”