The Dark God's Bride (Book 3)

by Summers, Dahlia L.

  “In what way am I looking at you?”

  “You are weighing, and judging, and evaluating me. If you want to know something, just ask me. There is no need to pretend.”

  “Then I will start with why did you keep me chained like an animal?”

  “Do you really think I have that kind of power?”

  “No,” he said condescendingly, “but I want to know who your accomplices are. I don’t just want your life. I want the lives of everyone who plotted against me. If you confess now, maybe I will feel merciful and grant you a quick death.”

  She replied without reserving a second to think it over, “That’s a kind offer, but I think I will pass it up.”

  “Are you sadistic, I wonder?”

  “You will not allow yourself to hurt me.”

  He frowned at her bold statement. “I dislike conceit in a woman.”

  “You dislike a lot of things,” she murmured succinctly.

  Noctis furrowed his brows. “Are you not afraid of death, woman?”

  “Everybody is afraid to die. It’s just that I’ve come really far in the last three years. I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

  “Are you just plain senseless or is your love for me what makes you blind?”

  “Maybe both,” she admitted regretfully.

  The mortal was not giving him an inch. She was not afraid of him and she was not intimidated by him. He could see that it was not an act. It was a shame that she hadn’t taken him up on his offer because now he would have to employ unfavorable tactics.

  His hand moved up from her elbow and wrapped it around her bandaged forearm. He knew how this got there and it was still a fresh wound. She winced at the lightest touch. He tightened his grip on her forearm and she furrowed her brows. The blood drained from her face in an instant. It was then replaced by cold sweat from the pain.

  “Who are your accomplices?” he asked in an interrogative voice.

  She didn’t answer his question so he tightened his grip a little more. Her pain was visible on her delicate face for him to see, but she stood firmly and looked up at him with those resolute grey eyes. She made no sound to express her pain, no resistance, and not a single word begged for his mercy.

  “Who are they?” he asked impatiently because the duration that she made him wait was making him uncomfortable. The beads of sweat were making him uncomfortable. Her silent bearing was making him feel extremely uncomfortable. “Speak!” he urged her. “Confess those names and all of this will be over.” He would grant her a quick death.

  Warm blood seeped out of the white bandage and soaked his hands. It overflowed and dripped onto the ground between them. She still hadn’t said a single word of confession or of protest.

  “Dense woman! Don’t you feel pain at all?”

  “I definitely can feel pain,” she finally opened her mouth to answer him. “You are hurting me, Noctis,” she said softly. He didn’t know why he released her when he had no prior intention to. His body was acting on its own. He shot a glare at her and she smiled sweetly at him in return.

  “I admire your courage. If you hadn’t murdered her, I would have spared your life just for that reason.”

  “Murdered who?” the mortal inquired. The mortal’s youthful brows drew together in a puzzled expression, but then she became relaxed again once she had come to the realization of something. “If you mean Rion then yes, I was partially responsible for her death,” she calmly admitted. His blood was beginning to boil under the confession. “But I wouldn’t go as far as saying I murdered her,” the mortal finished the rest of her sentence. “She was the one who brought it upon herself.”

  “You—!” He gritted his teeth and grasped her neck neatly in his hand. “Are you aware that you are admitting to the crime?”

  “I’ve committed no crime.”

  “So why did you kill her? Was it purely out of petty jealousy or some other reason?”

  “I did not kill Rion!” She continued to deny his accusation even when he was constricting her throat.

  “I should kill you in the most horrible fashion for what you’ve done to me!”

  He heard a bitter laugh coming from her. She was looking back at him through misty grey eyes. He found it strange that she hadn’t shed a single tear when she was in sweat-breaking pain, but something he said triggered such a reaction. “What have I ever done to you, Noctis? Instead of leaving you alone by yourself, I volunteered to stay behind. I’ve kept you company and cared for you and withstood session after session of our verbal abuse! I tried so hard to be good to you! So tell me! Really! Tell me what did I do to you that won me your contempt? Am I really the evil bitch that you made me out to be? How could you stand here and accuse me of murdering your wife?!”

  Another woman’s voice was breaking his concentration. “Why haven’t you killed her yet?” He diverted his attention to the woman standing at the end of the hall. It appeared that Daniela of the Lycan clan followed him all the way to this place. The mortal was right about him disliking many things. He disliked being followed and he disliked doing things on other people’s terms.

  “Stay out of this!” he warned the female Lycan and then returned his gaze to the mortal.

  The mortal was glaring back at him. She looked hurt and he had a feeling that it had nothing to do with the bleeding on her arm. “I should have been more determined to walk away from you that day. I shouldn’t have placed my trust in you. I tried so hard to fight for you, for us, but now I realized I was just being a fool. I give up. Do you hear me, Noctis? I’m giving up on you and I’m giving up on us. If you feel the need to seek retribution for Rion then just finish the deed and let it end here. Let ‘us’ end here.” She closed her eyes and said with deep regret, “Loving you was a mistake.”

  The air pulsated around them. He hesitated. Why was he hesitating? Why was there a painful throb inside his chest when she wanted to break all ties with him? Were there ties between them to begin with?

  “Kill her already!” the female Lycan urged him on.

  “Silence!” he spat her. Then he said to the mortal, “Beg.”

  Grey eyes opened and stared back at him.

  “Beg for your life,” he ground out.

  She shook her head in refusal.

  “Beg for your life,” he repeated between gritted teeth, “and I will spare you.”

  She shook her head once again.

  “Beg for your life!” he commanded, sounding a little too desperate. Please! He found himself silently pleading her.

  She refused to obey.

  He was putting pressure in his hand, but he couldn’t seem to finish the task. Something inside was countering him. He never once hesitated taking a life before so why now when he was burning with rage? And why her? He attempted once more, only to come to the realization that something inside was trying to stop him.

  He released the mortal and shoved her away from him. He hadn’t used any strength either, but the momentum sent her back hitting the wall. She began to rub her throat to soothe her coughing.

  The female Lycan sneered at him as she walked past him toward the mortal. “Hello, Amara.”

  “Hello, Dani,” the mortal greeted the Lycan once she regained her breath.

  “It’s a shame that didn’t go as I planned,” the Lycan said.

  “I know. I can understand why you hate him enough to do this.”

  “If you understand then don’t take this personally. I like you. I do.” The Lycan raised her hand in her air, extend her sharp claws, and slashed the mortal down the side of her neck in a motion as fast as lightning. “I just wished he had finished you off with his bare hands, because then there would be a small chance he would feel the kind of torment he inflicted upon me.”

  The Lycan gave him another scornful look before she fled.

  Noctis watched as the mortal slid down the wall and seated in a growing pool of her own blood with a sense of dread. In that taut silence, the pair of achingly beautiful grey eyes that looke
d back at him was devoid of feelings and of hope. She made no attempt to reach out and ask for his help. He should have felt satisfied that the woman who kept him chained for weeks – the woman who robbed him of the woman he loved – was brought to justice, but all he felt inside was turmoil and confusion. His head felt like it was being pried open from the inside by something that wanted out so badly that it was willing to destroy itself in the process.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  His apprentice had been gone much longer than the five minutes she promised. Totality would be in ten minutes or so. He asked her to hurry back, so what was the hold up? She must have realized by now how important this was for him. He spent the last seven years collecting all ten thousands souls for this one specific occasion. He knew Amara wouldn’t bail on him in a time like this so he was slightly worried that she hadn’t come back yet.

  “Amara! It’s almost time!” he shouted to the open doors leading to the hall. A long moment passed and there was no reply so he decided to search for her. He froze when he saw the dark god present in the hall. Shiran followed his gaze and found his apprentice sitting against the wall. He was about to call to her again, but then his eyes were drawn to the ugly wound down the side of her neck and the puddle of blood she was sitting in. His heart jumped to his throat and lodged there. Anger swelled up in his veins.

  “You bastard!” Shiran screamed at the dark god as he rushed to his apprentice’s side. He carefully gathered her into his arms. She was still conscious, but her body was cold and trembling. “How could you do this to her?”

  She was trying to speak, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. His heart was wrenching to see her this way. The blood rushed to his head and sent him down an endless spiral of rage. “Amara,” he called out her name. “Amara, stay with me! Oh god, how could he do this to you…?”

  He glared up at the bastard who was standing there like a statue and saw a pair of cold, unfeeling blue eyes. He knew he was no match for the dark god at the moment, but he still wanted to give the bastard a good punch in the face. Amara gripped onto him as though she knew what he intended to do. She weakly shook her head. She tried to speak to him again, so he lowered his ear to her mouth.

  “…Shiran… I need you to do me a favor…” she said.

  “I need to get you to a hospital!”

  “…One favor…”

  Somehow, he knew that she wouldn’t be able to make it. Her heartbeat was weak and her breathing was faint. Most of her blood was pooling on the floor. How was he going to explain this to Elizabeth? What should he do when his daughter cried out for Amara? “Anything!” he promised her.

  She whispered softly into his ear. “…The bedside table… in the drawer. There is a letter to my mother… help me deliver it to her. Tell her… tell her I love her.”

  “Amara…”

  “...And don’t tell Lizzie about me until… until she gets better. The doctor said she shouldn’t get emotional. If she happens to ask where I am… tell her I’ve decided to take that trip around the world… in the drawer… postcards…” Her voice was fading. He couldn’t hear the rest. He lifted his head to ask her what that last part was but it was too late. Her body was growing colder and colder. The expression on her face was so serene as though she was only sleeping.

  He gently shook her and asked even when knew there would be no reply, “What was that last part?”

  A sense of loss hollowed out his insides. She was really gone.

  “No… Amara…” He shook her again. “No!”

  He had never done anything for her. He never even said anything nice to her, but she had been a good friend to him through and through. He had relied on her so much for the last three years, but he hadn’t even thanked her properly for all she had done. How was he going to tell Elizabeth about this years from now? Elizabeth loved Amara. His daughter loved Amara. He loved Amara.

  He remembered sitting in the waiting room with her when Elizabeth went into labor. They were holding each other’s hands until both of their knuckles turned white from holding too tight. When Elizabeth was bed-ridden in the hospital, Amara was the one who sat by his wife’s bedside and spoon-fed her every meal. There were days when he would come back home to check up on his daughter, he would see Amara trying to put the child to sleep at ungodly hours. Her thin and pale appearance was evidence to how hard she worked herself.

  Shiran always looked down on men who cried, so why then couldn’t he stop the tears from overflowing? Because, he answered himself, she deserved a proper mourning from a friend who loved her. No, he corrected himself. They weren’t just friends. They were family. Amara always treated him like family. He held her tight in his arms and wept as he wept once before when his mother passed away. He didn’t care he was being watched by a man who didn’t deserve her.

  “You don’t deserve her,” Shiran told the dark god exactly what he was feeling inside. “She was too good for you, you bastard. You should have cherished her, but all you did was hurt her over and over again. I pray for your sake that you will never remember who she was or you will recall this day and you will rot from the inside out from the knowledge of what you’ve done.”

  Shiran ignored the dark god from that point on. He picked Amara up in his arms and carried her back to the dome room. He couldn’t leave her like this. He couldn’t put her in a coffin and burry her under the dirt like this. His poor wife would be heartbroken. If Elizabeth should find out about this, her condition might worsen. She might even lose the will to live. She loved Amara so.

  The unfairness of it all was too much for him to comprehend. This girl was much too young to die and much too loved to be forgotten. He must save Amara even if he had to give up seven years of hard work and the opportunity of a lifetime. He would use the art that was meant to take life to give life. She would have done the same for him without the need to think it over twice. He needn’t to either.

  “Don’t worry, apprentice. I’ll make it so that no one – not even that bastard – will be able to bully you ever again.”

  As of this minute, you belong to me. A shard of memory cut into his head. I protect and provide for what is mine. You are a liability, but you are my liability. And another. Bound to me for all of eternity? I’m afraid so. And then another. I’m too selfish to let you go. So I will continue to fulfill my duty as your husband. He was being bombarded with so many images that he thought his head was going to explode. I will never allow myself to fail you again. A shard of memory cut through all of the others. He saw her tearstained face looking back at him. Her image was no longer shadowed out by his incomplete memory. I love you, Amara.

  Noctis heard her name inside his head as clearly as he spoke it. It was Amara. He loved Amara and not any other woman, dead or alive.

  Every little grisly detail flooded back into his head with the force of a great typhoon. His head felt like it was being barbarically bashed open by primitive tools. After the agonizing pain was flushed away, he came to himself again. He just awoke from a bad dream to an even uglier reality. He was standing in the hallway facing a puddle of bright red blood on the floor. Her blood. A dark emotion emerged at the realization.

  “Amara!” He stormed down the hallway into the adjoining room with a domed glass ceiling view of the heaven above. The silhouette of the moon completely masked over the sun. All that could be seen in the dark sky was a bright halo. His eyes slid to the Necromancer who was chanting a spell from a golden scroll and then to the ghastly pale woman lying on the platform in the middle of the room only a few feet away from the Necromancer. Her body was surrounded by an intricate circle written in blood and in her hands cradled an illuminating blue orb. The strange text was moving and rotating on the surface it was written on in a pattern of an extremely complex design.

  Noctis stopped dead where he stood when he realized that he couldn't sense the faintest breath from her. Panic stiffened his expression. Fear instantly drained the blood from his complexion. He moved forward to retrieve h
is bride, but he found he could not cross the line the text was written on.

  “Stop this at once!” Noctis shouted to the Necromancer. The Necromancer spared him a razor sharp glance while still continuing the ritual. “You don’t know what you are doing to her!”

  The Necromancer gave him a second glance; this time was full of hatred and disparagement as if to say he had no right to put those words into a sentence. The blue orb inside Amara’s hands was glowing brighter and brighter and looked as though it was going to burst. The ground began to crack and gave way to numerous translucent veins that closely resembled tree roots. The veins began to encase her body starting with her legs.

  With no time left to waste, Noctis attempted to freeze the moment with his powers. The room was picture-still frozen in time, but his powers did not affect the area within the line of text.

  The blue orb in her hand lost its solid sphere shape and became as flexible as liquid. It took on a life of its own. The blue liquid crawled up Amara’s chest, down the curvature of her neck, and slithered into her mouth. Her eyes flashed open before she gasped a deep breath of air.

  Noctis attempted to break through the barrier of the text again with all of the strength he could call forth. He couldn’t let what the Oracle told him about Amara’s ultimate fate to come true. He didn’t give a damn about the fate of the world, but he didn’t want his bride to be taken over by her new dark powers. He feared that it would consume everything that was the woman he loved.

  “Amara!” he ground out as he set the entire room up in flame. The heat of the white flame dried out the blood text on the platform.

  “Stop what you are doing!” the Necromancer bellowed at him. “If you stop the ritual before it can be completed, she will stay dead!”

  “She belongs to me! I’m the only one who gets to decide her fate!”

  “Bastard!” the Necromancer cursed at him. He turned his attention back to the scroll and chanted even faster.

  Noctis strengthened his flames. The pressure of the heat shattered the glass ceiling above. Sharp broken fragments of glass rained down on the three of them. The open ceiling breathed air into the room and blew away the power-dry ash on the edge of the circle. The link was broken. The barrier was no more. The veins began to recede back into the cracks on the ground.