Page 33 of Evermore (The Never Sky #3)

Paesha

I glared down at the bands around my wrists, at the thorns growing from the swirling black marks. Fucker. He’d done that on purpose to push me.

“I find it hard to believe it takes you more than four minutes to remove one article of clothing and replace it with another.”

“Well, Al, I find it hard to believe any woman with half a brain cell crawled into your bed and procreated, but here we are, living the dream.”

“Present yourself. Now.”

The command in his ancient voice ripped through my veins, forcing the barbs on the bands to dig into my arms as my feet moved of their own volition. Well, his.

I circled the accordion partition in my gifted bedroom and glared at him. “A simple ‘please’ would have sufficed. Asshole.”

“I’m not above taking your free speech away.”

I ran my fingers over the smooth silk hugging my body. “Don’t worry, Al. I don’t think there are many things in existence you’re above.”

He scratched his chin, patience wearing thin. “I’ve asked you not to call me that.”

“Well, damn, Al. You also told me I couldn’t call you Grand Pappy. You took Ball Sac off the table. You hated Shadow Fucker. What do you want from me?” I moved to study the plunge of the gown’s neckline, my Remnants silently following like a train on the gown. “Honestly. Al is tame.”

“For the love of the Fates, stop fidgeting with that dress. It’s meant to be alluring, not manhandled. Now stand in the center of your room.”

Again, my feet shuffled forward. In the four days since he’d taken me, I’d learned to only push to the brink, never over the edge with him. His anger fed into his Remnants, which caused mine to lash out. And though his were far more powerful, mine were erratic, and not at all bound to my command.

“Call them forward,” he commanded.

“You know I can’t,” I answered. Because, in this one thing, he had no control over me. As long as I didn’t know how to control the Remnants of my power, he couldn’t make me do it. The mind was a precious thing, it seemed.

“Correct. That’s why we practice. Focus on the emotion.”

Without thinking, Thorne’s little golden book popped into my mind.

I’d hidden it after I’d left that empty stone room on the first day.

I was given a comfortable room and access to basic necessities.

Things would change though. We both knew it.

As soon as he decided what he wanted to do with me, I’d lose all sense of self, and become only his. A future I didn’t want.

“You don’t have to make that face to use your power. It should come as natural as breathing.”

“When was the last time you were a mortal?” I asked.

He paused, narrowing his eyes. He saw the trap for what it was, but still he stepped into it. “I’ve never been a mortal.”

“Then it stands to reason, you have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

His Remnants were as quick as serpents, pouring from his tattooed arms, spilling onto the floor in a fluid motion as they raced for me.

I planted my feet, bracing for the inevitable impact.

But rather than coiling up my arms, as they typically did when big Al was throwing a tantrum, they circled me, lashing out at my legs, taking me to my knees in pain.

“So much for your dress,” I said through gritted teeth.

“I’ll find you another before our meeting.”

Meeting?

“Focus,” he growled, his Remnants tightening their grip. “Hunt your own power. The thing you keep trying to cage. Let it surface.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but my inner demon seems shy. Or he’s napping. Probably that.” The words came out strained as his power pressed against my mind, seeking the monster I’d been struggling to contain since shattering the veil. The thing that whispered about vengeance and destruction.

His Remnants pushed harder, like fingers probing an open wound. I bit back a scream as they searched for something to latch onto, something to control. But my shadows remained stubbornly dormant, refusing his call as much as mine.

Sweat dripped down my spine, soaking into the silk of the dress as I fought against the invasion. The monster stirred, stretching beneath my skin. But it wouldn’t answer him. It was mine. The only thing left that was truly mine.

Alastor checked his pocket watch with an irritated sigh. “Stand.”

My body obeyed instantly.

“You will not speak unless directly addressed by me. You will not move except to breathe. You will follow me, maintain proper posture, and present yourself as befitting your position.” His voice carried the weight of command, each word settling into my bones like chains.

Guess we weren’t changing the damn dress.

We walked in silence down the endless hallway, my feet catching on the rough patches of stone.

Each step sent shards of pain up my legs, but I couldn’t adjust my stride or even wince.

He’d forgotten to tell me I could blink, so I didn’t, letting my eyes burn as tears gathered at the corners and ice cold anger grew within me.

The meeting room doors swung open, revealing a long table surrounded by people, some I knew to be gods–Serene, Bellatora, Vesalia–and some I’d never seen. They studied me like I was a particularly interesting specimen in a jar.

Alastor pulled out a chair, and I sat, my back straight, hands folded in my lap, face carefully blank despite my burning eyes.

Everyone stared. At the binding marks on my wrists. At the tears tracking down my cheeks. At the way I held perfectly, unnaturally still.

Blink, you sadistic fuck , I thought viciously at Alastor. Just say I can blink.

He ignored me. Looking around the table as if he were taking attendance.

I could only see him out of my periphery as I sat facing forward, but it was enough to know his posture had changed.

He grew taller, commanding, as he let the others work out for themselves why a mortal might’ve been invited to sit here.

I knew what he wanted from me. To show off the power I’d stolen. But when he learned he couldn’t command it for himself, he decided to keep that information to himself and show his dominance another way.

My eyes burned, but beneath the discomfort, my mind raced, seeking opportunity. These immortal bastards, so convinced of their own superiority, would speak freely in front of a silenced mortal. Their arrogance would be their undoing, and I intended to remember every word.

Alastor poured water into a crystal glass, placing it deliberately in front of me. Such a simple thing turned into another display of dominance. Everything was a game to them, every interaction a move.

He leaned close, his breath ghosting across my ear. “You may blink.”

I kept my burning eyes wide open, even as tears tracked down my cheeks. Small victories were still victories, and I’d take every one I could get.

“The imbalance grows worse,” one of the gods said. I couldn’t see the face.

“Or haven’t you noticed with your new little pet?” another added, her voice like wind through autumn leaves.

“Is there a reason you’ve brought the Huntress to this table, Alastor?” Serene asked. I couldn’t see her face, but I’d know that smoky voice anywhere.

Alastor leaned back in his seat at the head of the table, locking his hands behind his head. “Stand, Huntress.”

I shot to my feet, all qualms about blinking to prove a point gone as fear wrapped around me. Before, when it’d been him and I, I knew exactly where his boundaries lay. Here? Now? As a display of power amongst gods, I was fucked.

“Dance,” he commanded.

My body was thrust into motion, swaying back and forth, spinning, swinging my hips as if I were on the Maestro’s stage. I would not break. Not here, no matter how much the shame of being weak and powerless filled me, stirring the sleeping monster.

Do you see the hands of gods?

No. No. Not the voices.

They take and take. Break and break.

Panic rose in my throat as I felt my Remnants pour onto the floor in waves, shadows awakened from their slumber to come out to play. I didn’t bother to look at Alastor. I didn’t want to see the calculated smile. That fucking victory.

“Take this blade,” Alastor said, holding a dagger between us.

I refused to let my fingers brush his as the cool metal fell into my hand. I could hardly think beyond the fear. The racing heart. What would he do? How far would he go? He wanted the power. Was this how he intended to get it?

“When I count to three, you will plunge the blade into your heart, Huntress. Go slow. Feel the pain.”

I couldn’t shake my head. Could do nothing but dance with the blade that would end my life.

For a brief moment, a flicker of a second, the only thing I could see in my mind was the moment I’d first laid eyes on Thorne.

Not the man claiming me as his wife, but the other.

The one bathed in blood. The one that’d come into the Maw and killed the Cimmerians that’d tortured me.

I wondered if I’d bleed as much as they did.

I wonder if these gods would tell him how it happened.

“One.”

Around the table, the gods watched with a mix of fascination and cruel amusement.

Bellatora’s crimson lips curled into a wicked smile, her eyes bright with anticipation.

Vesalia leaned forward, her delicate features a mask of false sympathy that did nothing to hide the eagerness in her gaze.

And Serene, beautiful, lusty Serene, lounged back in her chair, one perfectly arched brow raised as if to say, “Well, get on with it then.”

My hand trembled as I raised the dagger, the point hovering over my frantically beating heart. Every instinct screamed at me to fight, to run, to do anything but obey. But Alastor’s command held me in place, an invisible vise around my mind and body.

“Two.”