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That wasn’t what she wanted. The flame flickered, losing intensity as she tried to wrestle control over her mind. The voices were at a fever pitch. Vandana’s, the Anki, the O’hurani, and Dante’s.

A coarse tongue flicked her cheek. Rieka froze as a serpopard curled itself protectively around her. She recognized the dark fur and pale markings. In the light, she realized it was far bigger than the others. It lowered its head until they were eye level. Its sharp canines dripped with black blood; its red eyes studied her. And then it started to purr. The sound vibrated through her. She. The serpopard was the elusive matriarch of the herd.

The serpopard submissively kneeled, lowering its head in a bow. The submission lasted three seconds before she raised herself to her hind legs and roared.

The other serpopards joined their voices to the primitive roar, as they all lowered their heads in subjugation.

Rieka didn’t move.

For a moment, the silence was deafening. Until the serpopards began a feeding frenzy. Human and Atlantean screams drowned out the sound of the serpopards tearing clothing, flesh, and bone.

She closed her eyes, willing the flame to return. Nothing.

A hand grabbed her, dragging her back into a hard chest.

“We need to move now,” Dante whispered. “The immortals will deal with the survivors.”

Melting into the embrace, her hand clasped Dante’s. Their fingers entwined. “I’m not going to argue.”

The serpopard stood still. She half-turned her head, her long neck coming to rest on her back as she blinked at them. Her snakelike tongue licked the air before she returned to the feeding frenzy.

“On three,” Dante ordered. “You run back the way you came from, and you don’t stop. The immortals will lead the way out.”

“Not without you.” Rieka glanced behind Dante.

A dark silhouette was outlined against the cliff, the unmistakable shape of a chakram and a hint of auburn hair. The immortals. Freedom. Rieka tightened her grip on Dante, refusing to let go until she got the response she needed.

They may have survived the battle, but the war had barely begun.

“Always, Wildfire,” Dante whispered back.

Chapter 58

48 hours later

Dantestoppedattheentrance of the underground cell. The air tasted stale, a testament to how often the cells had been used over the last three centuries.

The two black-clad guards at the large dark metal door moved to the side, their identities hidden beneath tinted helmets. A glint of gold material flickered in the darkness. Aadya. Dante waited for his grandmother to exit the cell, not surprised that she had beaten him to see Idris.

Anhur had announced Idris’s death the day prior; it had been a solemn affair. The Jimourt had been told that Idris had fallen afoul of ancient poison from an artifact that he had handled. No one had questioned Anhur, instead they had chosen to mourn the passing of the assassin turned scholar and his relative youth.

If Idris had died, there would have been some sort of closure. Dante could have remembered Idris as he wanted to; instead all that was left was a shell of the Atlantean. A monster who had shed his dignity for broken bloody promises.

Dante turned and faced his grandmother. There was a sadness in her gaze that had not been present earlier. It had aged her more than anything else.

“Idris is not the Atlantean you knew.” There was no hint of malice in the tone, and there was a weariness he had never heard in her voice.

It shook him. “I don’t think I ever knew him.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Aadya’s face as she turned to walk away. “Rieka has already changed you.”

The door creaked open, the bright lights from the corridor streaming in, chasing the shadows. Dante waited to adjust to the darkness. The sandstone walls were bare and thick enough that no screams would escape into the corridor. It didn’t take long to find Idris. He was huddled in the corner, his once proud shoulders hunched over. Still wearing the clothing of the scholar, Idris’s pants and shirt were covered with dirt. The smell of blood and sweat permeated the air, overriding the mustiness of the dungeon.

The door quietly shut behind him.

Idris defiantly lifted his head, his eyes bloodshot as a single blood tear rolled down his face. His oversized arms strained at the unnatural angle they had placed him in. The metal restraints glittered in the darkness, with the yellow light casting Idris in a sickly glow. Molten colors of red, purple, and yellow covered every piece of exposed flesh.

This was no longer the Atlantean he had claimed as a brother.