Chapter 59

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

ZEVANDER

I n the darkness, Zevander lay staring at Maevyth. Her quiet snores confirmed she’d fallen asleep, and with her back to him, he ran his fingertips over her long, soft curls. His mind spun back to earlier, when she’d lay spread out before him, trembling and needy. Perfect. He could still hear the echo of her moans in his head. A sound that called to his instincts to claim her.

His gaze fell to the small of her back, where he’d seen the faint scars of a whipping. He’d refused to examine them too closely, because, by the gods, he’d have torn through the folds of time to punish whoever had laid hands on her. Instead, he made a silent vow that he’d viciously strike down anything that touched her from that day forward.

His mate.

He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Mates were for those who believed in fate, who gazed at the stars with a longing to capture them. He’d lived too long with the practicality of knowing the stars were too far out of reach, and yet, in his arms lay the brightest of them all.

The girl with the moon in her eyes and fire in her soul.

Damn the gods for sending him one so beautiful, with a heart so pure. So fragile.

In sleep, she rolled onto her back, her head still turned away from him, but her snores died away to long, peaceful breaths.

Touch her. She’s yours.

He screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. What had he ever done in his ruthless life to deserve something so innocent and good? The world had never given him anything so freely. Everything he’d ever given a damn about had come at a tragic cost, so why would he trust that fate wouldn’t stab him in the back?

At the same time, while every dark corner of his mind resisted the possibility of it, the fact was, Dolion’s vision was indisputable. Seers did not possess the power to dream of mating bonds on their own. Regardless of whatever visions the old mage might’ve had over the years that’d turned out to be false, mates were always true. Particularly when, at the time he’d dreamed it, Dolion hadn’t yet met Maevyth. And even if Zevander had the audacity to question a vision from the gods, that first kiss in his office had certainly laid all doubt to rest. It was then he’d felt the first tug of his bond. The shaking of his bones that’d awakened the possessive beast inside of him.

The first sputtering beat of his dead heart.

What a cruel destiny she’d been given, though. And, to some extent, him, as well. Having a mortal for a mate would mean suffering the agony of watching her die too soon.

But perhaps that was fitting. The final punishment of the gods, because an eternity with her seemed as unreachable as the stars. The blackness on his horizon, that colorless stretch of nothingness, had always left him wondering if anything existed beyond it. Or maybe it was the same empty void that called to him on the nights he’d held that poison-tipped blade to his own throat.

Yet, knowing her life would be cut short, could he sacrifice even a fractional moment with her? To spare her from the possibility that he would turn out like Branimir? That she’d be forced to watch his mind deteriorate and spiral into madness?

He gnashed his teeth as the truth pummeled his conscience.

No. He couldn’t spare so much as a minute. That sort of altruism was reserved for better men. Not those whose souls were desiccated and thirsting for one drop of life.

Zevander’s withering heart had been caged for far too long to so selflessly let her go. As much as he loathed his greedy, self-indulgence, the mere thought of setting her free was a kindness he refused to entertain.

It was true what Rykaia had said–she was the fire in his veins. A torment, for which he vilified the gods.

For centuries, he’d roamed as nothing more than a shadow, a cursed son of sablefyre. Maevyth radiated an irresistible warmth that he voraciously craved in his cold and calculated existence. Like scattered rays of sunlight reaching down to the darkest depths of the sea. The promise of redemption for all the vile things he’d done. Lives he’d taken.

So many lives.

Claiming her, though, meant offering up another target for his adversaries, and a mate was far more dangerous than a sister. She was a weakness, a pawn they could use to make him heel like a dog. Because losing a mate was said to be more painful than burning alive.

One of few tortures he’d managed to evade up until that point.

He rubbed a hand down his face, his head a relentless mess of thoughts that hammered at his skull. A turbulent gale of confusion over what he wanted and what he’d have sooner carved his own heart out to avoid. And in the center of that storm was Maevyth. The only constant. A beacon in a dark, black sea. A light too bright for his eyes, but damn the gods, even if he had to maim and kill for all eternity to keep her safe from his enemies, one fact remained true.

She was his. Lunamiszka. My little moon witch.

A cold and selfish pursuit, but he didn’t care. When the gods offered atonement for a life of hell, best to grab it by the fucking teeth. He slid a hand over her, dragging her sleeping body closer.

She moaned and shifted, but didn’t resist him, nor did she wake. With her back to his chest and his face buried in her hair, Zevander inhaled deeply, wanting to devour her all over again. One taste hadn’t been enough. He could’ve easily spent the night exploring every inch of her body. Learning her pleasures and fears. Acquainting himself with his mate’s darkest fantasies. He wouldn’t take her yet, though. Not here, where he had nothing at his disposal to temper his appetite. Because once he plunged himself into that heavenly abyss, he knew damned well he’d never want to stop. Zevander had been trained by that cursed wretch, General Loyce, to take like a vicious dog. To ravage and plunder the brutal Bellatryx who enjoyed rough and oftentimes painful sex. Without some measure of restraint, he’d fuck Maevyth against every wall and surface to get his fill, and even then, he’d spoil for more. The same way he’d been conditioned to go for hours while feeding the depraved hunger of the Bellatryx.

He winced at the thought of subjecting Maevyth to such a thing.

No. Not her. If it took every ounce of power in his body or the deadliest tinctures of poison to quell his urges, he’d be gentle. For her.

No matter how much he craved being inside her, how obsessively he fantasized about her, he would wait for a time and place better suited for a claiming. A place he could reach for his noxious blade if needed—a safeguard he didn’t happen to include in the arsenal of weapons he’d brought across the vale.

A creaking sound had him swinging his attention toward the window behind him. He silently watched the fluctuating light, indicating a presence outside. Unraveling himself from Maevyth, he sat up in the bed, careful not to disturb her, and quietly clicked his tongue. An image materialized in his mind–the window and the porch.

And a figure standing just out of the window’s view.

Not entirely clear, but Zevander could make out long, branching antlers, a hunched body, and hooves.

He stalked toward the window, not making a sound over the aged floorboards, and pressed his back to the wall, opposite to where he’d seen the figure. From that angle, he caught a glimpse of it slipping past–a creature with bark-like skin and long, branching arms, sniffing the air.

“I see you watching me,” a voice in his head said, and Zevander frowned, backing himself into the shadows. “Come. I wish to speak with you.

Then speak, Zevander thought to himself.

“Have you no idea that I could drag you from that hovel with nothing more than my mind?”

And you will be met with my blade. Reveal yourself and tell me what you want .

The thud of hooves on the weathered porch revealed movement, and he stepped before the window. Just as Zevander had seen in the obscure image from earlier, the creature’s long, branching horns stood up from his head, scraping over the glass. His eyes glowed like that of an animal’s in the dark, and rough, tessellated skin, with deep grooves like the bark of a tree, covered his body. Though he appeared more animal than man, he stood on hind legs, slightly hunched.

The same beastly form he’d seen in the woods when he’d first ventured to Mortasia.

“Cadavros,” Zevander spoke low and stepped in front of him, the two face-to-face, separated only by the glass between them. “The creature I saw in the woods that night. It was you.”

“Yes. I’ve since taken a more acceptable appearance as a mortal, but I thought you might appreciate the familiarity. A ghastliness I shared with your brother.” He waved toward Zevander through the window, his branch-like fingers scraping the glass. “You’ve taken to the black flame rather well over the years. Far better than I.”

Zevander didn’t bother to respond to that, and instead took note of what appeared to be blood smeared at his chin.

“I’ve been forced to consume mortal flesh to keep my strength.” He tipped his head to the side, presumably toward Maevyth. “It seems you’ve also consumed your share of flesh.” Even in thoughts, his voice held amusement, and his attention on Maevyth stoked a dark ire in Zevander.

In as subtle a movement as he could muster, Zevander forced his shield to block his mind, as he recalled his blades sat out on the table beside him.

“ It’s futile. I cursed you, and therefore, you cannot hide your thoughts from me. ” Those black, beady eyes tracked to the left, toward the table. “ Not even your longing to kill me. And what for, really? I’ve no inclination to kill you . ”

“ Then, why are you here?”

“To propose a bargain of sorts. As the Black Pestilence spreads, my power grows. Give me your loyalty, your fealty, and you will rule Mortasia alongside me. ”

Zevander sneered. “ And become one of your faceless creatures. Your grotesque mutilations?”

Lips gnarled, he hissed, as though offended. “They are the ones who refused fealty to me. Who chose their pride above all else.”

“I’ve already sworn fealty.”

“Your king has already betrayed you. In fact, if he knew you were here now, he’d have you locked away in his dungeons for regicide.”

Regicide?

“You’re aware that if Prince Dorjan dies, a black plague will be unleashed, and all of Aethyria will be at my mercy. But the prince and I are also linked by blood magic,” he went on . “Should I die, he will surely die, also.”

Zevander’s blood iced. It was then he realized why Sagaerin had chosen to banish Cadavros instead of killing him. Why he’d forbade anyone crossing the Umbravale. His son’s life had been soulbound. Not only to the amulet, but to Cadavros himself.

“Or you can join me. At my side, you’ll have more power than you imagined. Everything you desire most.”

Zevander snarled. “I desire nothing from you.”

“ Don’t you? ”

An unbidden image glimmered in his head. Maevyth’s naked form on top of him, her head tipped back in ecstasy.

Waves of pleasure pulsed through him, his body hardening.

Out of his control.

“ Imagine you could have her freely. Without those meddling memories clouding your mind.” Cadavros continued to taunt . “Imagine you could have her, take her, as you’ve dreamed. Imagine her touch without the pain. ”

Zevander clamped his eyes to banish the thought, but it rooted itself in his mind so deeply, he could feel his engorged cock buried inside of her then, every metal rung sliding in and out of her. The rapacity burning in his muscles as he plundered her tight little body. When he opened his eyes, she was there, her bare, wet flesh slickening his skin as she ground her hips against his stomach.

Fuck .

He took hold of her hips, guiding her lower, desperate to sink into that tight warmth, the swollen, weeping entrance which begged to be filled. A ravenous hunger hooked itself in his bones, thinning his restraint. Gods, he wanted her more than his next breath.

Waves of black curls spilled over her slender shoulders, her pouty lips parted around shallow flutters of breath as she closed her eyes, smearing her arousal over him. Stirring his predatory instincts like blood in shark-infested waters. Sharp nails scored his chest, as she circled her hips against his groin and let out a dulcet little moan so fucking pleasing to his ears, he wanted to swallow it. The heady scent of sex in the air watered his tongue.

He reached out for her breasts, ignoring the niggling thought in his mind, the warning that told him something about this wasn’t right. His hands longed to touch her skin, and he took hold of her flesh, lifting his head to suck at her nipple. Feral hunger writhed inside of him. He wanted more. All of her.

A carnal madness burned hot in his veins, and on a growl, he bit down into the softness of her breast. She let out a yelp, and Zevander cuffed her throat to silence her, gripping tight and marveling at the way her pulse hammered against his palm. Her life in his hand. At his mercy. Teeth clenched, he dug his fingers into her hips, forcing them to move faster. Harder.

The pleasure in her eyes darkened to fear and she clawed at his hand still cuffing her throat, releasing a raspy choke of air.

He gripped tighter. Tighter.

“ Kill her, ” the voice commanded.

“No!” Zevander snarled, willing his hand away from her throat, but it wouldn’t move.

“ Zevander! ” Maevyth’s screams echoed in his head. “ Zevander! ”

The sound of a dark chuckle skated down his spine. “ You will give me your loyalty. Or I will take everything that matters to you away. ”