A_Shadow_in_the_Ember_Amazon

by Armentrout, Jennifer L.

  “How…how do you know what to do?”

  “All I can do is look at their life as a whole. And each time I sentence a soul, I always wonder if it was the right choice. Was I punishing someone who didn’t deserve it? Or was I letting someone off too easily? I ask that every time, even though I know I will never have an answer.”

  “I can’t imagine making that choice,” I admitted. “What did you do for the ones you answered? Those asking for the death of another because they were being hurt?”

  “I did not make a deal with them. I do not ever make deals. But I did grant the favor they sought.” A muscle clenched along his jaw as he stared ahead. “I found the person and ended it. I told myself I didn’t enjoy it. That I was removing evil from the realm.”

  “But that wasn’t true?” I asked. “You did, but not in a…perverse way. You enjoyed the justice. The knowledge that they could never hurt another person, and you were the one making sure of that.”

  His gaze slid to mine, and he nodded. “An odd thing for you to know.”

  The blanket slipped down my arms, gathering at my elbows. “Why did you end up stepping back?”

  “Because the deaths stopped leaving a mark,” he answered. “And I started to enjoy it, especially the moment they realized exactly who I was that either answered their summons or visited them in their home. The realization as it dawned in their eyes that not only would I take their life, but I would also have their souls for eternity. That’s when I stopped—when I stepped back and let the gods answer the summonses. Rhahar normally does it now.”

  I sucked in a shaky breath. “How…how did you know it was getting to that point?”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, but I felt his gaze on me. “It’s not something you can put into words. It’s something you just know.”

  Just something you know. I tugged the halves of the blanket together, words crowding my throat. “Are you reading my emotions now?”

  “No,” he answered. “Should I be?”

  I shook my head, not even wanting to know what he would pick up off me. I wasn’t even sure what I was feeling. “I’ve killed.”

  Ash said nothing, but I felt his stare on me.

  “Mostly men. Not good ones.” The words were rough against my throat. “Abusers. Users. Rapists. Murderers. I never set out to do it. Like I didn’t wake up one day and decide to take someone’s life. I helped my stepsister retrieve endangered children, and it would just…happen. Or sometimes my mother—”

  “Your mother?” Those two words fell like icy rain between us.

  I nodded. “She used me to send messages—the kind that wouldn’t be considered an act of the Crown.” I knew there was no reason to share any of this. I doubted it would help me, but it felt like a seal had been cracked open deep inside me, letting out words I’d never given life before. “I mean, it’s not like I didn’t have control of myself. I did. I know that I sometimes let it escalate to the point where I convinced myself it was necessary.” I thought of Nor. “That it was self-defense. But to be honest, I wanted to end them. To hand out justice.” A curl fell forward, lying against my cheek as I shrugged again. “The funny thing is, I wondered if you knew. Did you?”

  “I didn’t,” he told me, and I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse. “Being the Primal of Death doesn’t mean I know who takes a life and doesn’t when they are alive. It doesn’t work that way.”

  I nodded slowly. “Sometimes I wonder if something in me enabled me to do it. You know? Because not everyone can. My stepsister wouldn’t be able to. I don’t even think my mother could. And I wonder if that is because of the deal—how I was brought up. Or is there just something wrong with me that is all me—this ability to shut off my emotions and coldly take a life? Was it always in me?”

  “What do you mean by how you were brought up?”

  “Being trained to defend myself,” I answered smoothly because that wasn’t necessarily a lie. But it was a warning that I could be revealing too much. Still, more words rushed to the tip of my tongue. I couldn’t even blame whiskey for it this time. “I don’t know if I ever felt those marks you spoke of. Sometimes, I think I did, but then I would make myself not think about what I’d done. And it was easy to do that. Maybe too easy. I felt like…I felt a little like a monster.”

  The tips of his fingers grazed my cheek, sending a jolt of energy across my skin. Surprised, I lifted my chin as he gathered the curls, tucking them behind my ear. “You’re not a monster.”

  Gods, if he only knew. “I’ve done some monstrous things that I…that I would do again.” That I will still do. “Look at what I did to Tavius.”

  “That bastard deserved it.” His eyes brightened. “And when his soul comes out of the pits, I will personally do far worse to him.”

  The surge of satisfaction I felt upon hearing that was probably another good indication that something was wrong with me. “What do you mean the pits?”

  “The Pits of Endless Flames,” he explained. “I made sure his soul was immediately sent there. He burns until I free him.”

  Oh.

  Damn.

  “But those monstrous things most likely saved the others’ lives,” he said, and my breath caught. Sir Holland had once said something similar after the first time my mother had me send a message.

  I wanted to ask how he would judge my soul, but I figured that was something I was better off not knowing.

  His fingers trailed down the curve of my cheek. “I know one thing, liessa. A monster wouldn’t care if they were one.”

  I felt another snag in my breath. I’d never considered that before, and that cut through me. I wasn’t even sure why, or why I hadn’t thought of it because it was a simple enough idea. But I hadn’t, and it wasn’t like his words erased the deeds I’d committed. Ash was right. Mostly. His words, though, they chased away a little of the darkness that always lingered at the back of my thoughts. And when I drew in a breath, it felt as if it were the first deep one I’d taken in a long time. I wanted to thank him for that.

  Without much thought or motivation, I let go of the blanket and moved, erasing the small distance between our mouths. I kissed him, and his lips parted immediately, letting me in. He tasted of smoky whiskey and the coldest hour of night. I felt him tremble as I placed a hand on his chest. I moved again, sliding my hands to his shoulders and climbing into his lap. The feel of his skin through the thin night rail was an icy-hot shock to my senses. He shuddered as he delved his hand into my hair. I leaned into him, guiding him so he was on his back. The Primal of Death went without hesitation, without question. I kissed him, letting myself get a little lost in the feel of his lips, the flavor of his mouth, and the press of the thick hardness against my belly, letting myself enjoy all the sensations. To just exist in how carefully he wove his fingers through my curls, the soft touch of his hand against my back, and the deep groan he let loose when I lifted my mouth from his. To just live in that sudden breath he took when I kissed his scar and then the skin under his chin.

  I followed the line of his neck with my lips and tongue, pleased when his head fell back against the arm of the daybed. My lips brushed over the edges of the ink on his skin. I lifted my head. In the starlight and with as close as I was, I could finally make out what each of the marks inked onto his skin was. “They’re drops,” I said, running a finger over a few of them. I looked up at him. “What kind of drops?”

  “Blood,” he told me. “They represent drops of blood. But red ink won’t stay in my skin. It takes a lot to scar a god’s skin, let alone a Primal’s. Salt has to be applied for even black to stay.”

  Air hissed between my teeth. “Ouch.”

  “It’s not exactly a pleasant process.”

  I dipped my head, kissing a drop. “What do they mean?”

  He was quiet for a long moment. “They represent someone whose life was lost by my hands, actions, or because of a decision I made or didn’t.”

  I stilled, staring at
the ink. “There have to be…hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands.”

  “They are a reminder that all life can easily be extinguished.”

  That reminder. My heart twisted as my throat thickened. “You are not responsible for what others do.”

  “You don’t know that, liessa.”

  I shook my head. “The ones who committed those acts are responsible.”

  Ash said nothing, and I knew—I knew that those blood drops inked onto his skin weighed heavily on the side of the lives lost and not the ones he’d taken. I looked down at the swirl that traveled along his waist and dipped under the band of his pants. Did one of these represent Lathan, the friend killed by Cressa and the other two gods? Ash’s parents? The gods who had been on the wall? The Chosen he couldn’t save? There had to be dozens just on this one part of his body alone, and that kind of loss of life was…it was almost too painful a reminder without collapsing under the grief and what I knew had to be misplaced guilt. I wouldn’t be standing if I carried this kind of weight.

  Ash had to be the strongest being I knew.

  Back bowing, I tasted the skin of his chest, traced the defined lines of his stomach. Every part of me was aware of how each kiss, every graze of my fingers that followed my mouth, drew a quicker breath from him, a tremor. I kept going, my lips dancing around his navel and lower as I slid down his body. The tips of my breasts brushed over his rigid length, causing his body to jerk, and mine to clench. I settled between his legs, nipping at his skin above his waistband. My fingers slid over his sides to his hips and then to the band of his pants.

  “What are you up to?” Ash asked, his voice deeper and full of shadows.

  “Nothing.” I trailed a line of kisses, finding the ink that flowed over his hips.

  His fingers drifted through my hair, gathering the strands back from my face. “This does not seem like nothing, liessa.”

  “I’m…exploring,” I told him.

  “Exactly what are you exploring?”

  I lifted my head, and my breath caught. His entire body was taut with tension. The muscles of his stomach and chest, his neck and jaw. His skin had thinned, showing a hint of shadow underneath. His eyes were like stars as he stared down at me. “You,” I whispered, heart thumping fast. “I can stop if that’s what you want.”

  He cupped the back of my head. “That is the very last thing I want,” he said, and I started to smile. “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Smile at me,” he murmured, the silver in his eyes swirling.

  “Why?”

  “Because when you do that, there’s utterly nothing I would not allow you to do to me.”

  I smiled fully then.

  “Fuck.” He groaned. A laugh left me—a light and airy sound that felt good even as his eyes narrowed on me. “Don’t do that either.”

  My smile was bigger now. “Does that mean I can do anything?”

  “Anything.” Those churning eyes were fixed on me.

  I bit my lip as I looked down at him, where even in the shadows, I saw him straining against the fabric of his breeches. “Anything?”

  He nodded.

  I rose to my knees.

  “Don’t move.”

  I halted. “I thought I could do anything.”

  “You can, but…I’m now just seeing what you’re wearing.”

  “What’s wrong with…?” Glancing down at myself, I trailed off. The glow of the stars turned the sheer material nearly transparent, revealing the darker hue of the peaks of my breasts, and the shadowy area between my thighs. “Oh.”

  “If you want to wear that gown whenever you’d like, I won’t complain,” he said thickly, and I started to grin again. “You’re beautiful, Seraphena.”

  There was another clench in my chest, one that threatened to shatter this moment with reality—with responsibility. I didn’t want to allow that.

  I just wanted to exist in this moment, with this beautiful, strong, and kind being.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, sliding my hand from his stomach. I drew my fingers over the soft material of his pants and over his hard length. I folded my hand around him through the fabric, and his entire body jerked again. I looked up at him. His lips were parted just enough that the tips of his fangs were visible.

  “So, the whole I can do anything? What if I want to…?” I smoothed my thumb along him, and my stomach hollowed at the feel of him. “What if I wanted to kiss you?” I ran my finger back up, smoothing it over the curved head. His breath was a song. “Here.”

  “Fuck,” he repeated.

  “Does that fall under anything?”

  His chest rose and fell heavily. “That would be the first thing under anything.

  “The first thing?”

  “And the last. The second thing would be that nightgown and you wearing it whenever you like.”

  Laughing again, I stretched up and kissed him, enjoying the playfulness, the closeness that I had never really felt before when I was intimate with another. Maybe because this wasn’t about stealing a few minutes of pleasure that stole thoughts. It wasn’t even about my duty. This was about him and me. It was just about us, and it was…fun.

  His hands skimmed my waist as I eased my hand under the band on his pants. I felt him shudder as my fingers brushed his cool, hard skin. Breathing in his groan, I curled my hand around him and trembled as I moved it along his length. His hips lifted under me, and I broke off the kiss, a twist of pleasure curling deep in my core as those ultra-bright eyes locked with mine. He didn’t blink, not once, as I moved my hand over him. I didn’t want to either, enthralled by the tension settling around his mouth, in his jaw, and how the wisps of eather whipped through his eyes. Pulse pounding, I worked my way down once more, trailing a hand over his chest and stomach, where the shadows had thickened under his skin, creating a fascinating marbled effect.

  I reached his pants and tugged on the band. Ash lifted his hips enough for me to pull them down over his thighs. Only then did I look away and look at him. A tumbling sensation swept through my chest and my stomach in a sharp, enticing way. The skin was darker, and he seemed even thicker, harder under my palm as I drew my hand to the tip of the glistening head and then back down his entire length.

  He was beautiful.

  Strands of my hair fell over my shoulder and against my cheeks as I lowered my head. I kissed him, just below the ridge, and his hips jerked. I pressed short, quick kisses along his length and then licked at his skin, my breath quickening to match his. The tips of his fingers brushed my cheek as my lips coasted over that apparently sensitive spot. I lifted my gaze as he caught my curls, brushing them back from my face. I didn’t think he breathed. Our gazes locked, and I felt the corners of my lips curl up as I closed my mouth over the head of his cock.

  Ash’s entire body reacted. His hips lifted, back bowed, and one leg curled as I drew him into my mouth. “Fucking gods,” he growled.

  I took him as far as I could, swirling my tongue over his skin, letting my hand reach the rest of him. His salty taste was powerful. The way he danced along my tongue was an aphrodisiac. I sucked at his skin, on his cock, a little surprised by how much I was enjoying myself. Maybe it was this moment, and maybe it was the rough, raw sounds he made. Perhaps it was the way his hand kept tightening in my hair, tugging on the strands and then relaxing. Or how he struggled to keep the thrusts of his hips short and shallow. It could’ve been the way his hand shook. Both of his hands—the one in my hair and the one on the nape of my neck. Maybe it was just him. Just me. The sudden rush of power I felt that came with the knowledge that he was the Primal of Death and I made him shake.

  “Sera,” he ground out, hand firming on the back of my neck. “I’m not…I’m not going to last.”

  My skin flushed. I moved my hand faster, sucked harder, and his hand tangled in my hair again as his hips moved, pressing deeper against my palm. Against my tongue.

  Ash wasn’t just lifting his hips anymore. He lifted me
and pulled. “Sera, liessa…”

  I grazed my teeth over that sensitive spot, and instead of trying to pull my mouth from him again, he pressed down, his entire body arching under me. I felt his cock jerk against my palm as he drew a leg up again. He stiffened. The deep, throaty groan scorched my skin when he let go, throbbing and pulsing.

  His muscles were slow to relax, and I followed his body’s lead, easing off with my hand and mouth. I dropped a kiss to where the ink followed the inside of his hip and then lifted my head as I carefully pulled his pants back into place.

  Ash was staring at me with those wild eyes. He didn’t speak. Not a word as he pulled on me, tugging me from where I’d settled between his legs. He drew me up the entire length of his body, and before I could even guess what he was about, his lips closed over mine and he turned, shifting us so I was under him. And this was no soft kiss. It was deep and stunning, and I knew he didn’t just taste me on his lips, he also tasted himself. The press of his lips and each sweep of his tongue was a declaration of gratitude. Of worship.

  And I didn’t feel like a monster then.

  Chapter 33

  I slowly became aware of a fresh, citrusy scent, the soft, warm weight of the fur blanket, and the coolness pressing in at different points. Sleep clung to my thoughts as I snuggled closer to the long, hard length of the body behind mine, and the firm arm under my cheek.

  Ash.

  I didn’t dare move as I lay there, my senses clearing at once and focusing on the feel of him—the sensation of his flesh pressed against mine. He was wrapped tightly around me, not even an inch separating our bodies. I felt his chest rising and falling against my back with each steady breath he took. A heavy arm lay on my waist as if he sought to keep me there. That was a fanciful thought, one quickly lost in the sweet, hot feeling rippling through me. One of his thighs was tucked between mine, the soft material of his pants pressing against a very intimate part of me. My pulse picked up, as did a sense of wonder.