Lydia frowned. Poor Ember. I hope she died quickly and painlessly…and only just the one time. Sometimes that’s all any of us can ever hope for.
Especially here.
18
Ember jolted awake. It took her a second to realize what it was that had startled her out of her sleep. There had been a noise—some resounding boom had shaken her out of her dreams. Sitting up, she reached for her knife under the pillow, only to remember Rxa had taken all her weapons away. Her jaw ticked.
Speaking of the demigod…where had he gone? He wasn’t in the bed beside her. She wished Under had sunlight if only so she could tell what time it was.
Crack-boom!
She jerked again in surprise before she realized the sound was thunder. The rain had turned into a storm. The sight of the droplets rolling down the panes of the window caught her for a moment. It was beautiful how it shone in the dim lighting of the room.
It took her a second to register what was going on. “Wait a minute…” Sliding from the bed, she padded across the floor to one of the windows. The night prior, they had been shattered and missing. Pressing her palm to the glass, she felt the cold pane beneath her fingers.
And the window wasn’t the only anomaly. Turning on her heel, she took in the room around her. The bed was no longer a bare mattress laying on the floor—but covered in delicate sheets and a comforter atop a wood frame. The paint was still peeling on the walls, but now there were bulbs in sockets that burned a dim amber hue.
While she had slept, the place had changed around her.
There was only one answer as to how it had happened—Rxa had fixed it.
“Stupid magic.” With a grumble, she threw on her clothes and went to find the deranged demigod. It was two steps outside of the room that she smelled something that made her stomach grumble. Cooking food. And by the aroma, it was bacon or something similar. It came along with a heady scent she couldn’t identify.
She walked down the stairs, marveling at what she saw. She had fallen asleep in an abandoned building, and she had woken up in one with worn and flaking paint and exposed, water-stained wood, but…was otherwise perfectly intact. It was as though the grunge and wear was a decorative choice.
The functional lights were more than a little helpful. At least she didn’t feel like she was going to fall through the floor at any point in time or walk into a wall. Winding her way down the stairs, she heard someone quietly humming from the other room. Carefully, not knowing what to expect, she followed the sound.
It was a kitchen. She had seen rooms like this in the ruins of Gioll from the old world—gas powered heating elements and “refrigerators” which kept food cold to preserve it. She didn’t know what was weirder to see. A fully functional kitchen…
Or the fact that Rxa was cooking.
He was shirtless, and his bandages were removed. The two angry slashes on his back where his wings had once been were still there but were now scabbed over and slowly healing. The rest of the wounds on him seemed to have faded to scars. Some were lifted and pink, and others looked as though they were old, even if she knew that was very much not the case.
His long hair was wet, hanging in tendrils around his shoulders and down his back. He must have bathed. She was a little jealous, but he had been in bad need of it. He wore a pair of cotton pants that had once been white, but while they looked clean, they had aged into an off-yellow tone.
She was struck by the sight of him for a long moment. Standing at the stove, he was poking a spatula at a frying pan that was quietly sizzling away. It was utterly mundane. But something about him—watching the muscles in his back flex and move, and how they tapered down to his narrow waist—was arresting.
He turned to go to the refrigerator for something and paused as he saw her. His mask was off. Smiling at her, he almost looked embarrassed. “Oh. You’re up. Well, there goes breakfast in bed.”
“Huh?”
Shaking his head, he gestured to one of the stools that sat across from him at a kitchen island. “Sit, sit. Never mind. Foolish mortal thing. Would you like some coffee?”
“Is that what I smell? I’ve never had it before.” Sitting down, she looked around the room in awe once more. “When did you do all this?”
“Didn’t mean to. Just…woke up and it was like this.” He fished through a cabinet and found a porcelain mug. Pouring some dark brown liquid into it, he went to the refrigerator and pulled out a container of something. Cream, maybe? He poured some into it, stirred it up, and handed it to her. “You might need to add some sugar.”
She sniffed the mug. It smelled amazing. Sipping it, she grimaced. “Oh, by the Grandfather that’s bitter. Why doesn’t it taste how it smells?”
Rxa laughed and poured himself a similar cup. “It’s something you grow into. Trust me. It’s also highly caffeinated.”
“That’s helpful.” She smirked and lifted the mug to her lips again. It wasn’t as jarring on the second sip. But she reached for the small bowl of sugar she saw on the counter and put a scoop in. It might help take the edge off. “Is Cricket stuck out in the storm?” She frowned at the idea.
“I have a barn. I’m sure he found his ass in there and is fine.” He smirked. “You really care about that stupid horsefly. I’m jealous.”
She quickly changed the subject. “Why’re you cooking? I thought you ate raw meat.”
“I do. I tried some bacon already, and it…doesn’t taste quite right.” He sighed. “It’s not bad. But it isn’t how I remember it.” He went back to the skillet. “This is for you.”
That did something to her. She didn’t know what it was. It felt like pain. Something in her heart wrenched, and she shook her head, trying to shove it away. It made her feel oddly uncomfortable. “Why?”
He raised an eyebrow at her. Now that his hair was clean, she could see how platinum blond it really was. It was so light it was nearly white. “What kind of question is that?”
“I’m your prisoner. We’re enemies, Rxa.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Ember.”
“I’ve spent every waking moment of my life fighting what you represent. Fighting the drengil you’re commanding to destroy the world. It’s the only—” She broke off, not wanting to finish her sentence.
“It’s the only what?”
Jaw twitching, she walked through the door she had foolishly opened. “It’s the only purpose I have in life. My gods are dead. I have to have faith that—”
“Do not talk to me about faith.” He hissed the word furiously. “Do not talk to me about purpose and meaning. You aren’t the only one who dedicated their life to that nonsense only to be left without any of it. You aren’t the only one left wondering what the point of it all really was.” His knuckles went white as he clenched his fists at his sides. “There wasn’t any. All the people you saved are dead now. All the time you spent killing drengil was useless. You have no purpose, Ember. No fate. Neither do I. We just exist.”
“No. I refuse to accept that.”
“Then that’s one thing we don’t have in common.” He finally released his fists, and his shoulders slackened. Tilting his head from one side to the other, he loudly cracked his neck. “I accept the truth that I’m meaningless.”
Meaningless.
Cringing, she put down the mug of coffee and walked away from him. It was raining too hard to go outside, which was what she wanted to do. There was no point in getting soaked.
“Ember—”
She ignored him and found somewhere to sit. The living room area was a large, sprawling space, and it had little stairs that led up and down to different platforms. She sat on one of the stairs and put her head in her hands.
Not because he was wrong and had insulted her.
But because he was right and had insulted her.
Everything I’ve ever stood for was pointless. Everything I’ve ever done. My entire life.
With just that one simple sentence, he had knocked down the ho
use of cards she had been desperately trying to keep standing since she had arrived in Under. She could fight the panic if she had a foundation to build it on. She had a purpose—survive and help others do the same. But that purpose was useless.
“I’m sorry.”
Flinching in surprise, she looked up at him. “You walk too quietly.”
He shrugged. “Always have.” He sat down next to her and handed her the mug of coffee. “It’s hard for me not to lash out. I need to remember you don’t deserve it.”
Staring down into the oddly addictive bitter drink, she took a sip of it and took a moment to gather her thoughts. “You’re right. I’m meaningless. I always have been, but especially here.”
Leaning into her, he kissed her temple. “We can be meaningless together.”
She paused. She should have recoiled from the gesture. Of the feeling of his lips against her skin. Warm, and soft. But instead, she had to fight the urge not to lean away from him—but toward him. “I don’t know what this is between us.”
“Neither do I. But I’m eager to find out.”
She frowned. “You’re…” She struggled to find her words. “I’m mortal, Rxa. And you…”
“I know. But we can worry about that later.” He leaned his head against hers, his voice dropping low. “Now, come on. I made you breakfast. Eat. Then I say we take the day to do nothing at all but rest and bathe. I think I need about eight more showers before I’ll feel clean.”
“You look a lot better. You’ve healed.” She needed to change the subject. What he was offering her was too tempting. Too easy. It sounded nice.
“Almost.” He sighed. “My wings…” He trailed off, desolation laying thick in his voice. He winced and sat back, grinning lopsidedly. “Nothing cures a man like a good forking, what can I say?”
She laughed and shoved his arm. Both were halfhearted. “All right. Enough moping. I don’t want to waste your meat.”
Rxa coughed something under his breath. She caught something about something “she” said, but she didn’t catch it all.
“What?”
“Nothing. Something stuck in my throat.” He coughed again.
She shoved him a little harder. “You’re teasing me.”
“Yes. I am. And I’m having a blast. And if that little smirk on your face is any indication, you’re enjoying it. I think you like me a lot more than you want to let on.” He grinned again, but the playfulness was gone. Instead, there was only a dark hunger that made her shrink away from him. “You’re stunning when you smile…but I do love that look on your face right there.”
And suddenly the darkness was gone, and he was back to his innocent, tender smile. It was as though nothing had happened. She could only swallow the lump in her throat and wait for him to make the next move.
So often around him she felt as if she were just tied on to the back of a running horse. She spent her whole time trying not to fall, she had no idea where she was going or why.
He reached for her hand and pulled her, stiff and stilted as she was, to her feet. He watched her thoughtfully for a moment before a spark of mischief lit in his eyes. “I want to startle you so badly right now. You look like you’re going to explode. But you’re holding hot coffee, and that’s just mean. C’mon, little dove. You have a date with my meat, don’t you?” He winked at her.
Her face bloomed in warmth, and she looked away to hide her blush. It only made him laugh. But he kept his comments to himself as he led her back to the kitchen.
What were her options? Her choices hadn’t really changed. She could try to kill him. She could try to escape. She could have a total emotional breakdown. All of those choices would either end in a spectacularly pathetic show of failure or wouldn’t serve any good at all.
Her other option was to eat the food he had made for her—scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast—and try to take things one moment at a time. Live for every second.
“Where did you get the food?”
“Magic.”
At her groan of dismay, he laughed. “Trust me, darling, the other options are worse. Much worse.”
“What do you mean?” Now she was curious. She sat down at the island in the kitchen and couldn’t help but pick up the fork and begin to eat. Her mouth was watering, and the food tasted as good as it smelled. She grunted quietly. “This is fantastic.”
“Thank you.” He sat down across from her and picked up his own cup of coffee. “I used to pride myself on my cooking. It seems I didn’t lose that part of my mind.”
“What did you mean, ‘the other options are worse’?”
He took in a deep breath, held it for a second, and then let it rush out. “It’s going to upset you.”
She shot him a look and gestured vaguely at the world around her.
Laughing, he looked off out the window at the rain. “I told you that there are two kinds of animals in this world. Those made by dreamers, and beast-kin like your horsie.”
“He’s not my ‘horsie.’ But sure. Yeah. You said that.”
“Put it together in your head.” He stared down into his mug. “What happened when Qta and the dreamers died?”
She thought it over for a second. “The creatures they made went with them.”
“And the monsters in Under—all of us—eat meat. So…where did it come from?”
Horror clenched her stomach as she looked down at the food on her plate. She remembered watching Cricket slowly heal and come back from the dead. Suddenly, the idea of being immortal like them wasn’t so appealing. “You…ate each other?”
“We ate the beast-kin. And they ate us. And around and around we went as our world slowly dissolved into the void. All because Aon felt sad.” His jaw ticked, and she watched as his fangs extended from his jaw. Fury twisted his features for a moment before he managed to force it away. “And finally, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I crawled into my crypt and vowed to sleep until the void took us all. I’m sorry I did. I should have been around to intervene when Lydia arrived as a mortal.”
“I feel sorry for her. Being a mortal in Under isn’t fun at all.” She looked down at her plate. “The food’s good, at least. Even if it might have been a person once…”
He reached for her free hand, and she gave it to him. He wove his fingers into hers. “I am glad you are here, Ember. Even if this time is brief—even just the moments we have had…I am happy you walked into the sanctuary of my old cathedral when you did.” He began to run the pad of his thumb along the side of her finger. The simple touch sent a rush up her spine, and she fought back a shiver. “You’ve given me a raft to hold on to in the stormy sea.”
She wasn’t sure if she could say the same. Frowning, she realized he wasn’t her raft—he was her storm. Or he should have been. But she realized she didn’t just let him take her hand—she gave it to him. She wanted him to hold her hand.
She wanted him to be her raft at sea.
But it was wrong.
I hate this so much.
He bent his head and kissed her fingers. She watched him, rapt, as he opened his mouth and nibbled on her. That time, she couldn’t repress the shiver that ran up her spine.
Pale yellow eyes turned up to her, watching her reaction with a wicked and sinful smile as he grazed her pointer finger with his sharp teeth. Her face felt like it was on fire.
“Food’s getting cold,” he murmured.
Grandfather, give me strength. Give me patience. She turned her attention back down to her plate and tried to focus on eating and tried to fight back the urge to slam him against the counter and kiss him for all she was worth.
Or imagine what it would be like if he did that to her.
Grandfather, save me from this temptation.
She was trained to fight the dead. The hungry, mindless, vicious dead. Not…Rxa. Not him. Not like this. She wasn’t trained to fight the need that seeing his sharp fangs drifting over her skin sent pooling deep in her body.
It wasn’t that her desire was b
etraying her. It wasn’t so simple. If it were just that—like pain from a long hike or a wound that made her want to lie down in the dirt and die—she could resist. She could push away the urges that made her want him to do terrible things.
But it wasn’t nearly so cut and dry.
His words echoed in her mind, whispering that they were so similar in so many ways. Creatures of faith with no gods. Souls who prided themselves on their purpose in life only to find that it was pointless. Lost holy soldiers with no symbol to put on their shields.
She should hate him. She should fight him with every ounce of her strength. Even now, she should reach for the knife in the block on the table and slice his head off his shoulders. He stood for everything she had ever sought to defeat.
But none of those things were true, were they?
Lost.
That was how she felt.
“I can’t give in to this,” she muttered to him. “I can’t.”
“You can.” He turned her palm upward and placed a slow, hot kiss to the sensitive spot in the center. “You will.”
It was a threat. It was a promise.
And gods forgive her…she wasn’t afraid.
He shot up from his seat. “You! Finish eating. Then bathe. I’ll go rustle you up some clothing.” He strolled off, still carrying his coffee, humming to himself as if she were already gone and he was alone. She couldn’t help but watch him leave.
With a long, beleaguered sigh, she put her head in her hands.
I hate this so fucking much.
19
Death.
The smell of it filled Dtu’s nostrils. But not just any kind of death—not fresh carnage. Not the scent of a battlefield. It was what came shortly after.
Rot.
The fur on his shoulders raised as he lifted himself up from the lean-to he had taken shelter in. Jakob had slept indoors nearby. He had been tempted to sleep outdoors at his side, but after much fussing and insistence on Dtu’s part about how he was mortal and likely to freeze to death—had slept in one of the houses by a fire.
Grave of Words (Fall of Under Book 2) Page 16