The warmth of the spring water soaked Azael's masculine form, one knee rising above the surface.
Cold by nature, he had made a habit of savoring the spring's rare warmth.
He lay back, hair spilling around him, gaze drawn to the full moon in the open sky.
Anyone who saw him might have thought he was at peace.
Beside him, the weak blood of an antelope sat in a gold-carved cup.
A storm stirred inside him, resisting the need to send his bats after her.
Trisha was a witch—she understood the future before it happened. For all the powers he had, foresight wasn't one of them.
But he'd seen the signs: the lycans, the moment he'd drunk venomous wolf blood to save Elana.
He closed his eyes, letting the moon's light burn through his lids, losing himself in the night sounds.
Then memories surged—every drop of human blood he'd ever tasted.
His hands clenched, eyelids trembling through each memory until the last one.
The memory of him and Fen.
Azael's resurrection as half-man, half-demon by the army sorcerer.
Fen's jealousy and betrayal.
Darkness swallowed his mind—then lavender.
Fiery strands.
Lips red as blood against golden skin.
Elana.
She vanished just as a sinister voice whispered:
"A heart that doesn't stop cannot love.
The pull you feel is doomed. The universe never gives love to your kind without consequences."
Azael's eyes snapped open. He lifted his head, staring at his reflection in the rippling water.
"Experiencing love and death," he murmured.
"Then turn her," the voice crooned. "Keep her forever. Safer. Stronger."
He stared deeper at himself.
"But you won't," the voice laughed. " Because her innocence is what you crave. What your soul has been seeking. She feels like redemption."
He gritted his teeth as the voice echoed louder.
"You want her human. Fragile. Blind. Innocent."
Its sinister laughter echoed louder in his mind, mocking the rare humanity she had awakened in him.
Longing.
**
Elana's skin itched—she desperately wanted a bath.
"Hey." Zane's quiet, rough voice startled her. "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. Sometimes I forget you can't see me"
She swallowed and nodded. He took her hand, placing something soft in her palm—a chunk of bread.
Her stomach growled instantly.
"You've got a quite loud stomach there," he said, amused.
Elana blushed, pulling her hands back. "T-Thank you. Mast—"
"Zane." he corrected gently.
"Zane," she whispered, shrinking away from his nearness.
Across the prison, Vaughn called out. "Those guards said the war would end soon."
"We don't have much time left," Zane said. "We need to move with the plan."
"Caesar's almost done with the explosives," Cara added, "I've been monitoring the dates. He said the fifteenth. Today's the twelfth."
Elana chewed her bread quietly, only half hearing them.
"Elana," Zane called, "Will you come with us?"
She froze. They were planning to escape?
But that would mean never returning to the city again?
"The rest of the city considers us dead," Vaughn said. "Might as well start over somewhere else."
Elana's chest tightened. It might be better if she died. Out there blind and alone, she would be nothing.
She couldn't find her way back to Azael…even if she tried.
"You won't be alone," Zane said, voice softening. "We'll be with you. If that's what you want."
"You don't have to decide now, lass," Vaughn added.
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why they were imprisoned but she didn't want to pry.
"Your family must have been heartbroken," Cara said. "Especially with…your condition."
Elana curled closer to the wall. Her hand trembled around the bread.
"I was a slave," she said with a low voice—ashamed as she finally admitted what she was to the Gringers. What she was to Naina and Israel.
Silence followed. Then Zane spoke again, his voice heavy and raw.
"We were soldiers of Lumere, fighting the war. Ready to die for the kingdom..." he hesitated,
then continued,
"Until we saw the King shaking hands with the enemy. Until we got live proof that he was paying them to destroy his own land."
Pain cracked through his voice.
She heard it echo in Vaughn and Cara's silence.
The kingdom had betrayed every one here.
Even little Christian, who had clung to life after his mother died—only to lose that battle to one man's greed.
"There's nothing left here for any of us," Vaughn said quietly.
Elana felt the darkness close in. The world was terrifying enough—escaping into it blind felt impossible.
She shut her lids, imagining Azael's voice, his wisteria scent, the memory of his arms pulling her to him—a small light in endless darkness.
**
Fen melted into the arms of the tree witch, her moonwood branches tracing the ridges of his bare chest as she whispered sweet nothings.
Mist curled around them.
The witch who had birthed his immortality leaned close—tree bark face, black eyes, sly grin, lips brushing his ear.
"Two days from now," her slittery whisper poured into his ears. "You will join your lycans to hunt, especially that night. The answers you seek will be bare, vulnerable, in the open."
Fen's gaze hardened. "Take me, mistress. Give me immortality. Take my soul."
They kissed, raw and primitive. His eyes darkened with hers; veins burned with her magic.
The ritual was complete—another rare union with the tree witch, granting him immortality and a strength unlike any lycan he'd created.
As the tree witch faded, Fen's rage boiled toward Azael. He had vanished before Fen could sense his instincts.
Fen clenched his jaw—perhaps Azael had vanished to mask his reaction.
Nevertheless, he anticipated the surprise the tree witch had in store for him in two days.