Chapter 11

11

ALEKSANDER

I t’s been half a day, and my little cherub still hasn’t returned to me.

What more does she want?

I’ve been patient—it’s the least I can do after upturning her entire life—but this is becoming ridiculous.

Haven’t I proved myself?

For fuck’s sake, I willingly allowed myself to be taken prisoner by these damn Summer fae and shoved into a cell.

This is the longest I’ve been patient in my life. I was a good boy, a good elf, but no more.

I need to see her.

Magic thrums through my veins and settles in my fingertips, and I grab on to the strands with a ragged exhale. Then I shoot the magic at the door keeping me contained. It flies off its hinges and careens against the wall opposite with an audible clanging sound.

The two fae tasked with guarding me jump up in alarm, but before they can unsheathe their swords, I flick my fingers, and they fall to the ground unconscious.

Fuckers didn’t even put up a fight.

What a shame.

I’m feeling awfully stabby today.

I move to stand…only to immediately fall back on my ass as my right leg buckles. Tiny pinpricks race up and down the length of it, and I stare at my limb in dismay.

It seems as if my magic decided it’d be appropriate to take away feeling in my leg for a short period of time.

No matter.

I like a challenge, and vanquishing an entire village of fae while hopping on one foot sounds like a great one.

Using the wall for support, I wobble my way out of the dank cell, down a hallway, and then out the front door. The morning sun bears down on me, instantly heating my skin, and I close my eyes and take a deep inhale.

Now, where is my pretty little cherub hiding?

Come out, come out, wherever you are.

Something akin to fear momentarily eclipses my usual jubilant mood.

I need to get Kassandra to the elven castle if she has any hope of surviving the Mark of Chaos.

Gaia, I never should’ve allowed myself to be taken. We would’ve been halfway there if I’d fought back against the fae and then kidnapped Kassandra like I originally intended to.

Yet you want her to trust you , a sly voice whispers in my head.

Shut it, I retort.

And maybe my internal voice does have a point. Maybe a part of me does want Kassandra to trust me.

Yet I’ll willingly sever any and all trust between the two of us if it means keeping her alive and safe.

As I wobble my way across the pebbled pathway, my gaze lands on a discarded weapon that seems to have slid beneath a wagon. I bend down—nearly toppling face-first into a pile of manure—before grabbing hold of the gleaming sword.

Perfect.

I give an experimental swipe, relishing the swish of air, and smile. It’s been way too long since I last held something pointy. Almost an entire week.

Feels like an eternity.

Humming under my breath, I move in the direction I know Kassandra to be.

After all, the little cherub is my fated mate.

Mine .

Elves may not have the same religion as the fae, but we do believe in the existence of mates, gifted to us by the gods and goddesses themselves. The legend says that every elf is born with only half of their soul—the part that is either brimming with chaos or order. It’s only when we find our complement half do we feel complete.

And for me, that’s Kassandra.

My little cherub.

The contained order to my explosive chaos.

Elves feel the connection differently than most fae do. We simply…know. It’s an innate sense of knowledge, like the sky is blue and the grass is green. Once we’ve made contact with our fated mate, it’s impossible for us to lose them. We’re able to track them no matter the distance, our internal compasses pointing us in our other half’s direction.

It’s how I know Kassandra is currently in the tiny cabin located at the very back of the village.

It’s how I know she feels a strong sense of contentment and security.

It’s how I know that my cherub, my fated mate, the other half of my tarnished soul, has just been pleasured.

Raw fury pulsates through me, and I tighten my grip around the pommel of the sword. I know Blaze is Kassandra’s fated mate as well, but that doesn’t lessen the jealousy burning a hole in my gut like corrosive acid.

He, at least, could’ve allowed me to join in. Or watch. Or listen.

I’m honestly good with any of those options.

Maybe I should just kill him…

Ugh. No. Killing him would hurt my cherub, and hurting my cherub would inevitably hurt me.

It sometimes sucks having a conscience and “caring” about other people.

“What are you—?” A purple-haired fae pauses with his foot halfway out the door of a nondescript cottage. His mouth drops open, and terror paves its way across his face. “You shouldn’t be out!” he bellows, and then a burst of magic slams into my stomach, forcing me off my feet.

Normally, something like that wouldn’t knock me out, but I don’t have use of both my legs, dammit. That was a cheap shot.

I chuckle from my spot on the ground, staring up at the mid-morning sky, a canvas of sea-blue broken apart by fluffy clouds.

“I wouldn’t have done that if I were you,” I drawl lazily.

Then, with a flippant wave of my hand, I force the fae into the air. I don’t even bother to sit up, mainly because I know my magic momentarily made me paralyzed completely from the waist down.

I hold the fae high in the air, ignoring the cries and exclamations from the other villagers as they exit their houses to see what all the commotion is.

The blonde-haired fae my cherub befriended—Faye, I believe her name is—releases a curse and then hurries in the direction I know Kassandra to be.

If she’s grabbing me my cherub, then I’ll let her go. Besides, I have a hostage. No one will dare attack me knowing I have this pathetic excuse for a fae’s life in my hands.

And I’m right. The other warriors surround me, their spears drawn and their faces distorted in anger, but nobody dares harm me. They know that the purple-haired fuck won’t survive the fall to the ground.

So I just remain where I am, lying on the ground, humming under my breath, waiting for my perfect cherub to come and kiss my booboos better.

I don’t have to wait long.

Footsteps precede the incessant tugging in the center of my chest, which forces my head in Kassandra’s direction.

I can’t help but smile as she stalks towards me, looking beautiful and radiant and ethereal and every other synonym I can think of. Her blonde curls are loose and tousled, and I have the sudden, irresistible urge to run my fingers through the strands. She’s wearing the same dress from before, but I note that a few of the buttons are undone and the material seems to droop off of one shoulder, unveiling alabaster skin I yearn to kiss, lick, and bite.

When she sees me, she stops, her eyes comically wide in her face. She immediately begins to sign in Falkan—I make a mental note to study the language of the hands as soon as I’m able to—and Faye translates for me.

“She wants to know what the fuck you’re doing.” The tiny fae folds her arms over her chest and scowls at me.

I blink innocently. “Wouldn’t a better question be…what is he doing?” I jerk my chin in the direction of the purple-haired fae. “Personally, I think he’s just hanging around.” I snort at my own joke, but when no one joins in, I pout. I thought that was hilarious. “If you must know, I decided to take this fae hostage for the time being.”

Kassandra immediately begins to sign again, her rapid hand motions nothing but a blur, and I don’t need a translator to know what she asked me.

“Why?” I attempt to arch an eyebrow, but I know the effect is probably lost with me still lying on the ground. “Because I needed to see you, and apparently, kidnapping is the only way to get your attention.” I bat my lashes at her flirtatiously. “Aren’t I super romantic? A…get this…psychomantic.”

Yeah. I make myself laugh.

Once again, Kassandra signs to me, but this time, it’s not Faye who translates.

It’s fucking Blaze, the fucking prince of the fucking Fall Court.

I narrow my eyes at the fae and resist the urge to bare my teeth like a rabid animal.

I know his hair is mussed because of my cherub’s fingers.

I know those scratches on his chest are from her nails.

I know that mark on his neck came from her plush, pink lips.

On a scale of one to ten, how mad do you think she’ll be if I murder him?

I’m ashamed to admit—okay, that’s a lie; I’m not ashamed at all, but it’s the thought that counts—I consider ripping Blaze’s head off for a fraction of a tick. It would be so damn easy…

But then Blaze places a hand on my cherub’s waist, and she subconsciously leans against him, seeking comfort and solace from his touch. Some of my mounting anger vaporizes. Not a lot, but enough for me to focus on the two of them and not the desperate need I have to rip Blaze’s still-beating heart out of his chest and smush it under my foot.

Progress.

“Are you even fucking listening to me?” Blaze roars, tightening his grip possessively around Kassandra’s waist.

I blink.

Blink again.

Blink a third time.

And then decide—fuck it, I’m going to kill him.

Kassandra will forgive me eventually, right?

Kassandra must see something in my face—isn’t it adorable how well she can read me already?—because she hurries forward with her hands raised, desperation etched on her features. She begins to shake her head wildly, but I don’t know if it’s because of me or because of Blaze or because of Faye or because of the purple-haired fae still in the air, pleading for his life.

Kassandra takes a deep breath, and her chest rises and falls in a way that’s almost hypnotic. My gaze certainly strays to her perfect pair of breasts, the white mounds straining against the confines of her dress.

Slowly, almost as if she’s afraid she’ll scare me off, she signs a second time.

Blaze scowls but translates. “She wants to know what you want. And she asks you to stay the fuck away from her.”

My cherub rolls her eyes at the prince’s obvious improvisation, but Blaze shrugs unrepentantly.

I can’t help but give him a smug grin. “My cherub would never ask me to stay away from her.”

“She locked you in a dungeon,” he points out.

“That’s our version of foreplay.”

Blaze’s scowl deepens, and the sight of it causes my own smile to broaden. But it immediately fades when I turn to face Kassandra and zero in on the brand marring her bicep.

“We need to head to Amorite before it’s too late.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Blaze demands, interrupting whatever Kassandra was about to sign.

I know Blaze won’t have a clue what I’m talking about—the Mark of Chaos hasn’t been around for hundreds, if not thousands, of years—but I still attempt to jerk my chin in the direction of the mark.

“She needs to get that mark removed, and the only creature who can do that resides in Amorite.”

Blaze’s brows bunch together, and he takes a step closer, taking Kassandra’s arm with such gentleness that a lump rises in my throat. I have no idea why.

“The Mark of Chaos,” Blaze breathes in horror, his face draining of color.

I blink at him.

How the fuck does he know about the Mark of Chaos?

Desperation seeming to spur his movements, Blaze grabs Kassandra’s cheeks and rests his forehead against hers. His entire body shakes and rattles with the force of his breaths. “The elf is right. You need to get to Amorite and have that mark removed. Now. Before it’s too late.”

Kassandra signs something, and Faye translates. “Too late for what?”

I answer before Blaze can, giving Kassandra the final piece of the puzzle, the most important one of all. The one I’ve been purposefully keeping from her in order to protect her. “Before you become the vessel for Chaos and destroy the world.”