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“I may not remember anything about you but,” her gaze purposefully traveled slowly down and back up his form, “you’ve certainly got mother issues. I can just tell. And if even your mother didn’t love you, well, who else could? You think the entire world is against you and you want to punish innocent people for your own shortcomings. You lack empathy, morals, and lean much too heavily on magic and it will be your downfall. Oh, and I’m guessing even though you have large feet it doesn’t correlate to another area of your body.”

His jaw muscles feathered, and his steely gaze narrowed. “I’m going to have a wonderful time torturing you in your training.”

“I’ll be ready for it.” Her voice didn’t come out as strong as she wished. Thane was right, if he wanted to truly hurt her, kill her, he’d have done it already. The best form of torture of her own was not giving him what he wanted, not remembering him.

“I can hear the quickening of your heart, like a little rabbit. You might talk boldly but you’re a scared little girl deep down. Scared not just of me but scared that when you remember you will care for me.” He twirled his finger and a black shadow like a serpent weaved its way around her torso and brushed against her neck, creating a cascade of chills down her body. “You’re terrified that somewhere inside of you the people are right, and you have a darkness in your heart that you’d love to give into, and I’ll bring it out.”

“I could never care for someone like you.” But sweat beaded on her brow and her heart raced at the thought.

“We’ll see. Go to sleep, little rabbit, and dream of me.” He snapped his fingers, and a deep chuckle was the last thing she heard before blackness enveloped her world.

Chapter8

HEL

Hel flicked his wrist and a civar rolled in ashen white paper appeared in between his thumb and forefinger. The tremor in his hands had gotten worse since the confrontation in the throne room earlier. Though he’d never admit it, it took a considerable amount of magic to hold War. His body was slowly weakening over time, and he didn’t know why. He knew it had something to do with the magic that put him in the long sleep and the spell to wake him. He had a gut feeling what the remedy would be.

Placing the civar between his lips, he inhaled and then looked down at Valeen, collapsed in the center of the summoning circle. It was strange to see her vulnerable and fragile, like a dried flower that could crumble into pieces at his touch. Once, she was a worthy opponent, worthy of being his queen, and then his greatest adversary. Now?

Hel faced the old mage. “Why is she so inexperienced?”

“She was taken away from us as an infant—”

“I know that,” Hel said and pulled the civar from his mouth. Varlett and Mathekis filled him in on the details of the last four hundred years as well as this version of Valeen’s life history as she knew it. Living amongst humans, training to kill War and his elven father. That part made him smile. Varlett didn’t explicitly say she knew where Valeen had been while Mathekis searched for her, but he suspected. Varlett had reason to want her to be a lost little lamb, to be weak. “I mean why wouldn’t she have used her magic on her own? It’s natural to gravitate toward magic, not resist it.”

The old mage blinked his round, sagging eyes several times before he said, “The use of her magic attracts the pale ones. She didn’t like it.”

He smirked and cocked his head slightly to the left. “A simple shielding rune would have stopped that.”

“No one uses your rune magic anymore. It’s not worth the risk.”

He stepped over Valeen and sauntered closer to the mage to get a good look at him. Was he so brave he would lie right to Hel’s face? No, that wasn’t it. “Except mate runes, right?” He lifted a brow.

The old mage shifted slightly, gripping his staff tighter and his soft brown eyes darted to Valeen for a moment. “I did that under orders from my king. It’s not something I would have chosen for either of them.”

“You’re lucky Varlett broke that spell before I woke, or I’d tear out your heart for spite.” He ground his teeth thinking of her being mate bonded to War using his own spell, something they didn’t even do before. They knew better. “On second thought…”

The old mage’s eyes broadened but he lifted his chin and stood slightly taller. He didn’t shrink away at his impending death. Interesting. He wasn’t afraid to die. He expected at least some begging and pleading. Maybe he could be more useful than Hel thought. A gentler hand for this weaker version of Valeen. “Be here tomorrow at the same time.”

He turned on his heel and scooped Valeen into his arms, cradling her against his chest. At a casual pace, he moved down the path toward the castle. He kept his line of sight up, purposefully avoiding looking at Valeen. Every time he did, it brought up memories he didn’t want to reminisce on. Made himfeelthings. She was the only one who ever made him feel warmth in his icy heart.

Up the steps of the castle he went, until he stood before the double doors. With a pause he glanced up at the silver moon. He listened to her steady breathing, to the quietthud thud thudof her heart. Lifting her a little higher in his arms, and against his better judgment, he tilted his chin down and inspected her face. Her soft lips barely parted, and the breeze picked up stray black hair blowing across her golden skin…

The Past

“There’s been an assassination.”

Hel tucked his hands behind his back and scowled at his uncle. “You called me all the way here to tell me that?”

Sneering, his uncle Balneir rose up from his massive white stone seat. War nudged Hel with his elbow and gave the slightest shake of his head. A warning that his father was not in the mood for Hel’s back talk.

“You didn’t ask who. Which leads me to believe you already know, and that makes me think you did it.”

Hel unclasped his hands and narrowed his eyes. “I haven’t killed anyone in at least six months, since the last time I joined War in Ryvengaard.” He’d killed some spy who’d wandered into his territory three months ago but still, this one wasn’t him. “And I don’t know or care who died. Some worthless lesser god? One of your human servants? Pity.”

Balneir flew down the steps and drove his fist into Hel’s chest. The blow took his breath away and sent him soaring several feet until his back met a stone pillar. The sounds of it cracking all the way to the high ceiling echoed through the great hall.

“You watch your tone with me.” It was a move out of character for his usually serene uncle, a god of peace with an affinity for animals—birds in particular.