Page 2 of Gods of Prey (Parallel Prey #3)

Sienna

I fucking hate dying.

That’s right. Me— Death herself —hates dying.

My seemingly endless freefall comes to an abrupt halt as my chest hits the stoney ground and air is knocked out of my lungs in one huge burst.

That devastating feeling in the moment between a mortal life ending and my memories as a divine being returning has got to be the worst part. Where I want to cling as hard as possible to being mortal until I arrive in Umbraeth and realize I’m finally home.

The fall comes faster than my wings can react.

I brush my fingers against the crumbling gray rock, scraping a few on the sharp pebbles that broke free with the impact of my drop.

Testing all my limbs to ensure nothing is broken, I climb to my knees and swipe away the dusty debris clinging to my jacket.

Moths with large black eyes and skulls marking their backs flutter off in all different directions, as they always do when I travel between realms.

At least I’m fully clothed this time.

Glancing around, I stop to take in the beautiful landscape before me.

I materialized on the jagged edge of Mount Noxmere, my form solidifying with a familiar ache. Thirty-three human lifetimes completed, each ending in pain more creative than the last. This time was especially gruesome. Slow, violating, and agonizing.

The swine who killed me screamed obscenities into my ear as they pushed my mortal body beyond its limits. They were devotees of the Loyal Order of the Serpent, determined to reach my brother through my suffering.

I’ll ensure each and every one of them pays the price when they arrive here, as I always do. It’s my own small act of rebellion toward the Divine Council. They don’t get to put me through such senseless suffering without receiving a little push back.

The cold winds of Umbraeth whip around me, carrying the scents of home: ash and midnight blooms, the metallic tang of ancient magic.

Wings of onyx flex to their full extent behind my back, feathers of the deepest black fading into iridescent purple tips.

If you look close enough, you can see the constellations shining through the dark mist surrounding each one.

But no one ever gets close enough.

Below me stretches my realm in all its dark splendor.

The Nightshade Forest extends like a black sea, its trees twisted and gnarled, luminous fungi glowing between their roots.

Shadowmere Lake reflects no stars, only the perpetual twilight that serves as our sky.

The Duskvein Rivers snake through the landscape like broken fingers, carrying souls to and from Aurelys or the mortal realm.

If I squint, I can even see the endless pits of Mirreveil, where troubled souls are sent for endless punishment.

Home .

After centuries, it still takes my breath away.

I should go straight to the castle. Erebus will be waiting for my report, ready to relinquish temporary control of the realm. The Divine Council will want confirmation that Sebastian and I have completed our thirty-third mortal sentence.

But Sebastian isn’t here.

I reach out with my divine senses, searching for my twin’s presence in Umbraeth. Nothing . Then I extend my awareness further, toward his home in Aurelys. He’s not there either. A coil of dread winds through me. If he’s not in either realm...

“You’re still in the mortal world, aren’t you?” I whisper, my words carried away by the wind. “Damn you, Sebastian.”

I need a moment to think. To process. My castle, with its looming responsibilities, can wait.

I gather the shadows around me, feeling them embrace me like old friends.

Shadow-stepping is effortless now, as natural as breathing once was in my mortal form.

Flying, on the other hand, takes a little practice to get back into the swing of things.

As much as I love the open air, I don’t have time to reset broken bones.

I dissolve into darkness and reappear in an alley in Nocthollow, the sprawling city at the base of the mountains.

It pulses with the energy of countless souls—spirits awaiting reincarnation, entities who serve the realm of Death, beings neither living nor dead who have made Umbraeth their eternal home.

They all love and fear me. It’s a mixture I’ve learned to embrace as time wanes on.

One that keeps their unrest at bay. So long as they keep their distance, I’m content.

The buildings rise in graceful spirals of obsidian and bone, connected by bridges that appear to float on mist. Lanterns burn with blue flame, casting everything in an ethereal glow.

I pull down the hood of the cloak I manifested a moment ago. The last thing I need is to be recognized. The Goddess of Death, slinking into a tavern like some common shade. But news of my return will spread soon enough. For now, I just want a drink and a moment’s peace.

The Whispering Veil is exactly as I remember it.

Smoky, loud, and gloriously despicable. Spirits of all kinds crowd the tables, gambling with years of their afterlives, trading secrets, or simply enjoying the strange limbo between existences.

I slide onto a stool at the bar, keeping my face turned away from the crowd.

“Whispershade,” I tell the bartender, a gaunt figure with skin like parchment and eyes that haven’t held light in centuries. He recognizes me, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. “Make it strong.”

He slides the drink toward me without further comment, the liquid inside swirling with ghostly luminescence.

I slide a pile of silver coins across the bar top, then take a long sip, feeling the familiar cold fire spread through my chest. It’s been too long since I’ve tasted whispershade.

The mortal realm has nothing like it—alcohol that chills instead of burns.

That sharpens the mind rather than dulling it.

I’m halfway through my drink when I feel a presence behind me, cold and ancient.

“I didn’t expect to find you here, my lady.”

I don’t turn around. “Then you don’t know me as well as you think, Erebus.”

He slides onto the stool beside me, signaling for his own drink. Erebus, the interim God of Death, looks much as he always has: tall and severe, with features carved from midnight stone and eyes like distant stars. We’ve always had an easy relationship. I dare say he’s my closest friend.

He’s been ruling Umbraeth in my absence for centuries, and I can tell by the way he holds himself that he’s eager to give up the throne and return to his regular life. Even if it’s just for a few months until I’m assigned my next mortal identity.

He’s serving this punishment just as much as I am.

“The castle has been preparing for your return all day,” he says, voice carefully neutral. “Shadowmere began rising tides at dawn. The ravens returned to the towers. Umbraeth knows its true ruler has come home.”

I take another sip of my drink. “And yet, here you found me. Hiding in a tavern like a truant.”

“I wouldn’t call it hiding. More like acclimating,” he supplies the excuse easily. His black eyes scan my face. “The mortal realm changes you. Every time.”

“Thirty-three deaths will do that to a goddess,” I joke with a sigh, then turn to face him fully. “What news of the Divine Council?”

Erebus accepts his drink—something darker than whispershade, smoking slightly at the edges. A black inferno, no doubt. “They’ve been watching the balance. It’s beginning to waver.”

“Already?” I frown. “We’ve only just completed the thirty-third life.”

The Divine Council will begin delaying our mortal lives if they sense that our absence is affecting things.

Ironic, considering the punishment is for this exact thing.

But I don’t want any more delays. Seventeen more mortal lives—that’s all that stands between me and complete freedom.

I’d rather get them over with as soon as possible.

“No,” Erebus says, his voice dropping lower. “ You’ve completed the thirty-third life. Your brother has not returned to Aurelys.”

Although I already suspected as much, hearing it confirmed sends a chill through me colder than any whispershade. “How long has the council known?”

“They don’t. Yet.” Erebus studies me over the rim of his glass. “I’ve been diverting their attention, as I’m sure Revel is, too. If he’s smart. But it won’t last. The balance between Life and Death requires both of you.”

I scowl into my drink at the mention of the interim God of Life and my brother’s best friend. If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess he’s doing the opposite of covering for Sebastian. He’s too much of a sycophant to think of anyone but himself.

Sebastian and I have been paying for our crime for centuries now. Born as twins into each life, suffering together, dying together, then returning to our respective realms to recover before the next incarnation.

But now Sebastian has broken the pattern.

He’s still with the mortal he fell in love with, Jovie.

But I can’t tell Erebus that small detail, because then I’d have to tell him everything else.

Like how Sebastian has already altered timelines to be with her.

That would only get him into more trouble, which would mean I’d get into more trouble with him.

I’d like to speak with him directly about whatever crimes we’ve supposedly done together before we start touting about it.

Then again, Erebus has always been trustworthy. It’s possible that together we can form a plan to fix this without it getting back to his friends in the Divine Council.

My thoughts are always so scattered each time I return—so mortal . I can’t stand it.

I finish my drink in one swallow, then decide to dive in. What more do I have to lose?

“He fell in love with a mortal in this life. When she died, he was out of his mind. Then he found her again. I should have known he wouldn’t let her go.”

“Found her again?” Erebus’s voice sharpens. “That’s not possible unless?—”

“Unless he manipulated the timeline.” I meet his gaze steadily. “Which is exactly what he did.”

Erebus goes very still. Even in a tavern full of the dead and undead, he suddenly seems the most otherworldly thing in the room. “That’s forbidden. Especially for gods under punishment,” he mutters, so low I can hardly hear.

“I know.”

“If the council discovers?—”

“They won’t,” I cut him off, my voice resolute. A warning. They won’t find out because he won’t tell. “Not yet. I’ll handle Sebastian.”

Erebus leans closer. “How? He’s clearly chosen the mortal over his divine responsibilities. Over you.”

The words sting more than they should. Sebastian and I have always been two halves of a whole. Even under punishment, we had each other. Until now.

“I’ll go to him,” I say, mind racing. “I’ll remind him of what’s at stake.”

“You can’t return to the mortal realm so soon after death,” Erebus points out. “Your essence won’t stabilize for at least a divine year.”

“I can return as a spirit. Not corporeal, but present enough.” I’ve already done it once before.

“And if he refuses to listen? If he truly doesn’t want to return?” Erebus’s eyes bore into mine. “What then, Siennara?”

I signal for another whispershade, buying time to think. What Sebastian is doing is dangerous. Not just for the cosmic balance, but for himself. Hell, for me too. The Divine Council’s punishment for manipulating timelines would make our current sentence look merciful.

“He’s not thinking clearly,” I say finally. “Love does that, even to gods. I need to make him understand the consequences.”

“You’ll need help,” Erebus insists. “Someone who can take physical form in the mortal realm. Someone Sebastian trusts.”

An image forms in my mind—tall, annoyingly perfect, radiating the warm light of Aurelys. “Revel,” I mutter with my nose scrunched up in a disgusted scowl, like a child being told to eat their vegetables before dessert.

“The interim God of Life,” Erebus nods solemnly. “Sebastian’s best friend.”

I grimace. Revel and I have never gotten along.

Where Sebastian and I are passionate and impulsive, Revel is measured and disciplined.

He’s spent centuries looking down his nose at me, the chaotic goddess who always corrupted his friend when he was trying to keep him in line.

The thought of asking for his help makes the whispershade curdle in my stomach.

“Sebastian might listen to him,” Erebus presses when I don’t respond.

Suddenly, this mission feels a lot less enticing.

“Or they might both turn against me,” I counter, lifting a brow at him. “Revel has been ruling Aurelys in Sebastian’s absence. Perhaps he’s grown fond of the power.”

Erebus shakes his head. “Revel is many things, but disloyal isn’t one of them. He’ll want Sebastian back where he belongs.”

I drain my second drink, letting the cold clarity wash through me. “Fine. I’ll go to Aurelys. I’ll speak with Revel.”

Eventually. On my own time.

I stand, pulling my hood back over my face. “But first, I need to see the balance for myself.”

“The Observatory Tower at the castle shows it clearest,” Erebus says, standing as well. “The scales have begun to tip, slowly but surely. Life grows unchecked in some realms, while death comes too quickly in others.”

I nod, preparing to shadow-step back to the castle. So long as it hasn’t reached the Divine Council in Nytheris. “And Erebus? Not a word of this to anyone. Not yet.”

His expression remains impassive, but I catch a flicker of something in his star-like eyes. It’s gone before I can decipher it.

“As you wish, my lady. Umbraeth is yours once more.”

But for how long? I silently wonder as I dissolve into shadow. If Sebastian refuses to return, if the balance continues to falter, the Divine Council won’t allow me to remain on the throne. They’ll appoint Erebus permanently.

The thought should disturb me more than it does. Instead, my heart booms against my chest at being free.

Thirty-three brutal human deaths have left their mark. I’m tired in a way immortals shouldn’t be able to feel. Part of me understands why Sebastian would risk everything for love. For a chance at happiness.

But this duty has always been our burden to bear. And now, it seems, I must bear his as well.

The shadows take me, and I reappear at the highest tower of my castle—a structure of black crystal and ancient bone that rises from the center of Umbraeth like a jagged crown.

Below me, the Nightshade Forest pulses with ethereal light.

The Duskvein Rivers glow silver in the perpetual twilight. My realm. My responsibility.

And somewhere in the mortal world, my brother has found something he values more than all of this. More than me.

I need to find him again. I need to make him understand what’s at stake.

Even if it means tearing him away from the only happiness he’s known in millennia.