60. Danica

Danica

60

E ver in tune with my emotional currents, Seraphina offers a light touch to my arm—her presence reassuring amidst the celestial vastness. "There is a subtlety in the flow of time that you must come to understand," her voice carrying a soft power that belies the depth of her words.

I pivot toward her, absorbing the comfort of her presence. "What about time?" I inquire.

She reveals how time meanders differently across the realms—it isn't the linear march I've always known. Here, days could translate to moments elsewhere or stretch into years.

That revelation trips my heart into double time. "Years?"

The prospect of such temporal dissonance sets my head reeling.

Acknowledging my concern with a serious nod, she elaborates, "Indeed, the nature of time is unique to the realms. Consider it a fabric we traverse with utmost caution and respect."

Jophiel offers to elaborate, flicking his lush brown hair over his shoulder, painting a vast, intricate picture of existence's timelines. "Imagine each realm as a chamber in time's grand palace, each with its own pendulum of moments. While navigating your native temporal river, remember the other parallel streams, each fundamental to the cosmic ballet."

The mind-bending complexity of this multi-tiered reality sucker-punches me. I wring my hands, anxiety spiking. "How long have I been stuck in this celestial time-out corner?"

Bewilderment laces my tone as flashes of lost moments with Rhyland flicker through my thoughts. Did I accidentally hit the cosmic fast-forward button on our life together?

Jophiel doesn't hesitate, "Four weeks by Luminara's measure."

My chest constricts like it's being crushed by a heavyweight, and my stomach takes a sickening plummet. But I've barely been in this realm, right? An hour at most if I go by my watch's time.

"How long have I been here?"

"A day," Seraphina answers.

A tidal wave of sheer panic crashes over me, lodging a suffocating lump in my throat. Visions of Rhyland's safety—or lack thereof—slice through my core like razor blades.

"I need to get back to him— now ," I declare, my voice brooking no argument.

As the air shimmers with the summoning of my portal, Seraphina swiftly interjects, her voice laced with a prudent warning, "Not advisable."

Pressing her, my voice tight with urgency, "Why not?"

Seraphina's voice carries the weight of the heavens as she addresses the gravity of the situation, "Portals are unpredictable elements; they can be as wild as gambles cast in the dark. Creating an opening here could provide Azrael a direct path to our location, a danger we cannot entertain."

My resolve is ironclad, even as my insides contort in anguish at the mere thought of what he might be enduring. "But Rhyland—"

"I will send you back," Seraphina interrupts, sensing my urgency.

Before I can protest or thank her, Atheria's light evaporates, and the opulence fades into grim shadows.

My feet hit the hard stone with a thud, and suddenly, I'm choking on the dank, stale air instead of breathing in Atheria's sweetness—real nice move, sis—no heads up, no goodbye, just a famous celestial Uber.

My eyes struggle to pierce the darkness shrouding this place like a living entity.

What kind of voodoo shit did she pull? Is there some cosmic fine print that's going to bite me in the ass for her superhero catch and release? Or even more terrifying—what's the karmic blowback for Jophiel slipping me the Atherite stone at this juncture in my epic quest, assuming that was even part of the grand master plan?

No time to fret over the potential divine ramifications now, though.

I notice I'm back in my leathers, hugging every curve. I feel the weight of the daggers strapped to my thighs, cozy as ever in their sheaths.

Then, a familiar scent hits me, stopping my breath. Rhyland. His scent is faint but unmistakable, cutting through the stale air. I wave my hand, summoning a ball of light, desperate to lay eyes on him.

The cell flickers into view, harsh and unforgiving. And there, chained up like a slab of meat in a butcher's fridge, hangs Rhyland. My heart lurches. They've got my Viking trussed up and suspended from the ceiling. Anger flashes hotly through my veins.

"Rhyland," his name—only a whisper in this dark cell.

His once strong form is now a canvas of pain—battered, bloodied, and bruised. The sight makes something inside me crack, and my heart doesn't just break. It shatters. Splintering into a thousand tiny pieces, each one crying out in anger and hurt for him.

"Oh my god—Rhyland!" His name bursts from me, tearing through the silence of the cell as I sprint to him—my voice cracks, raw with emotion. I reach him in what feels like a heartbeat, hands shaking as I grip his face, urging him to look at me. "Please, Rhyland, look at me." My plea is a whisper against the cold stone and colder reality we're facing.

His injuries are severe—this isn't just flesh and bruises; there's a torment here that runs deeper than skin. He's unresponsive and doesn't even flinch at my touch when I'm used to at least getting a growl.

I can't—I won't—lose him. Not like this, not when we've only just started rewriting our forever.

Determination ignites within me, a fire fueled by love and desperation. I summon my light, that raw, instinctive magic that thrums in my veins, and focus it into a ball of pure intention. My arm arcs forward, the light responding to my unspoken command, and I hurl it at the damned chains suspending him.

With a force that vibrates through the chamber, the light collides with the cold metal. The chains shatter, the sound of liberation ringing loudly in my ears, and his body drops. He lands with a heart-breaking thud on the hard stone, and I'm there, scrambling to his side even before the echo fades.

"Rhyland, sweetie...wake up." My voice softens, brushing against the hard lines of desperation. With newfound energy coursing through my being, I coax the remaining chains around his wrists to surrender. This time, they fall away with less ceremony, clinking against the dungeon floor.

The collar around his neck—that cursed piece of iron and evil—snags my gaze, and I see nothing but red. A surge of fury tightens my grip, and my other hand is already moving toward my wrist, offering the one thing I know can mend more than just his physical wounds.

I press my wrist to his pale lips, the warmth of my skin stark against his colder-than-night kiss. "Rhyland, come on, drink... please," I plead, my voice a tight whisper of urgency. "You need this. I need you."

My heart races as I watch him remain still, unresponsive to my pleas. With desperation clawing at my chest, I grab my dagger and slice open my wrist, blood spurting out in thick rivulets. My hand shakes as I press it against his lips, urging him to drink from the wound.

He doesn't move as my warm blood trickles down his chin. I begin to panic. But then—finally, he begins to wrap his chapped lips around my bleeding wrist, slowly sucking the life-giving liquid into his mouth. "Yes," I whisper with a mixture of relief and fear. "There you go."

He gulps down my blood with reckless abandon, his body shaking. I reach out with my free hand to brush back his unkempt hair, but he suddenly grips my wrist like a starving man. A soft whimper escapes his lips, and the sound threatens to break me as I witness the depths of his anguish.

Just as I'm convinced he's had enough of what I am giving him, I yank my wrist away and quickly wrap it with a torn cloth, my eyes narrowing on that cursed collar. With a surge of will, I call forth my light, unleashing it once more upon the accursed device, and witness it shatter, crumbling to the dungeon floor.

"Hey..." my voice is gentle. Rhyland's eyelids finally lift, and I breathe a sigh of relief to see the familiar, beautiful, stormy blues of his eyes—silently whispering thanks to the heavens.

"Angel—" he rasps out, his voice coming through shredded and gritty as if each syllable were being forced through a gravel bed.

"Yeah, I'm right here," I respond, and faster than a pulse, he's up and lifting me with him, wrapping me in an embrace as unyielding as steel, pressing me against the distant wall with exhilarating force.

His hold is intense and unwavering. I clasp him just as fiercely, our arms locked in a desperate grip, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Through the conduit of our bond, a torrent of emotion floods into me: starvation—his longing, his relief—each moment without me magnified a hundredfold from his perspective.

He engulfs me entirely as if imprinting my scent on his very being, and I match his fervor, devouring his presence in turn. In a swift, unyielding motion, he withdraws just enough to let our eyes lock, and in that sliver of a moment, his lips ambush mine—plundering the breath from me with a Viking greed. A sharp hint of my blood on his tongue intertwines with the fierce tenderness of his kiss, a passionate declaration scrawled in the language of urgency—painting his longing, adoration, and fierce claim over me in the boldest of strokes.

He traces a searing path with his kisses down my chin, descending to the vulnerable expanse of my neck. "Fuck…I… thought…I thought the worst—" he confesses, each word laced with such raw longing that it wrenches tears from my eyes.

"I'm here. I'm here," I whisper, trying to soothe his fears. Sensing the depth of his need, I lean into him, granting silent permission to claim what sustenance he requires, as I know what I fed him is not nearly enough for what he's endured.

The acute, thrilling pinch soon follows the graze of his fangs as they pierce my flesh. Drawing me in closer—if that's even possible—his arms become steel bands of protection, one hand tenderly weaving into my hair, cradling my head, as he partakes of my essence with exquisite care.

He drinks deeply, a moan vibrating against the curve of my neck as his venom ignites an immediate blaze of desire within me. I become liquid fire, my arousal scorching through me.

"Your flavor... fuck... I could drain you to the last drop," Rhyland's voice is a whisper in my head, laced with a deep hunger.

I draw him in tighter, driven by the urge for him to feed, to satisfy his craving—me being the sole source of his long-denied hunger. Draining me dry right now is the least of my concerns. My destiny is cradled in his grasp, and fear is nowhere to be found in me.

As Rhyland presses against me, his cock springs to attention like a soldier reporting for duty, and I can't help but let out a soft, seductive whimper. With a devilish grin, I clutch his hair, pull him closer, and grind against him with an intensity that leaves no doubt about my desires.

Then, with great reluctance, he ceases his intoxicating feast and presses his forehead to mine, inhaling my presence like a man starved of air. "I never fucking quit... I hung on—fought—for you."

"I know... I am so terribly sorry. Time twists differently in Atheria; I had no clue I'd been away for so long," I say, my voice trembling with emotion as I pitch my plea to him. I hope he grasps the truth of my words—that abandonment was never in my stars nor a part of the destiny that I've embraced with every fiber of my being.

I never wanted him to endure losing me, to feel the keen sting of my absence like a physical blow, like a void that can never be filled or a hunger that can never be sated. I never wanted him to know the bitter taste of abandonment, the sour ache of being left alone in a world that suddenly seems too big and too cold and too empty without the one you love by your side.

"No 'I'm sorry' bullshit; you never have to say you're sorry to me, ever." He brushes away the tears cascading down my cheeks; his own eyes shimmer with a tumult of sorrow yet glint with joy—relief so palpable. The vow forms in my heart: I'll do anything to spare him this turmoil ever again. "I'm just so damn relieved you're alright. I was losing my mind over you—I had you in my arms, and then you fucking stopped breathing—" his forehead drops to mine. "Then you just...disappeared. I couldn't sense your presence, your essence, your goddamn light—just everything—gone."

I silence his fears with a kiss, pouring every ounce of my love into it. "I know..." I whisper between the fervent kisses. "I'm here... I'm alive," I reassure him, each word punctuated with another kiss.

The terror that must've gripped him as he cradled what he thought was my lifeless form is unfathomable. Were our roles reversed, I'd probably be on the fast track to a padded room in the nearest madhouse.

I notice he is already healing and looks ten times better than he did a moment ago. His skin has regained its healthy glow, and his muscles ripple with renewed strength. It's a stark contrast to the battered and broken man I held in my arms just moments before, a testament to the incredible resilience of his vampire physiology and my blood.

"We need to fucking leave, now." Rhyland's voice brooks no argument, the hard-ass Fjord Lord in full command.