Page 7 of Heir of Broken Souls (HOBF #3)

Chapter 7

Delilah

T he sound of dragons pumping their leathery wings fills the sky like a war drum.

A shadow crests me, blocking the rays of sunshine that have been pummeling me for the entirety of the journey, as a beautiful black- and gold-scaled dragon passes above.

The first time I laid eyes on a dragon my heart filled with an array of emotions. Awe at their beauty, fear at their size, and wonder at their existence. The moment made me cry for my beloved friend, Easton, who wanted more than anything for the once-thought mythological creatures to be real.

Now I see them for what they truly are.

Weapons of mass destruction.

Especially those who have lost mates, loved ones, and riders. The dragons and griffins will not rest until they wrap their razor-sharp teeth around the necks of each and every demonic creature sent to these lands.

Sinking my hands into Aurora’s thick raven fur, Knox’s words from this morning before we took flight ring through my mind. The plan his court and I came up with on how to destroy a piece of my childhood. The diversion we want the dark lord to believe is our focus. I keep my thoughts on that as the Deyanira Mountains rise on the horizon—and the bellows of pain, strikes of steel, and screams of slaughter.

The front lines on the border.

The battle that has been waging for weeks.

The enemies that, no matter how many times we spill their blood, are summoned back to these lands with a vengeance.

Do not look down , I chant, forcing myself to not face the horrifying destruction that is wreaking havoc upon the border. The destruction we will do everything in our power to keep out of our lands.

The soothing touch of Knox’s fiery shadows that are trailing down the bridge between our minds tries to calm the hatred burning within my heart and soul. But this is not the time to let my fire die.

Without taking his focus away from scanning the skies, Knox’s silencing shield stays intact around our legion, our enemies unaware of what’s soaring right above their heads.

That certainly won’t be the case for long.

Our legion comprises of Knox leading at the front, three dragons and two griffins—not including Aurora and Zephlyn—and Lenox flanking our back, being our eyes and ears of protection. No one else seems to share my fear, only the unending rage.

Once the fight fades, I peer below once more, but the sight of the blood-red Mason River has my stomach hollowing out. Forcing myself to breathe deeply in through my nose and out through my mouth, it’s a miracle we leave it behind us without me losing the contents of my breakfast.

And then before I’m ready, a low bird call rings out, signaling the beginning.

Up ahead, two griffins with riders perched atop fly into view, and in the middle soars a small black raven, Harlow’s choice of animal. Relief, swift and heady, rushes through me, mirroring the swell of pride that flows through Knox’s body.

Knox sent his spy, along with two griffins for protection, to scour the in-between for innocents. Searching for the many stolen Fae from battle and those still missing from the in-between compound I accidentally stumbled upon all those months ago. I had to pass off my necklace to Harlow this morning, the only item on such short notice that can unveil the truth of what curses are hiding—the necklace Eleanor gave to me when she was trying to free me from my own sordid curse. My neck feels bare and strangely naked without the support of its weight.

Another short cry rings out—Harlow’s signal that all is clear.

It’s a blessing and a curse that we didn’t find anyone hidden in the in-between. For one, we now know Peter set this up as a ploy, to either inflict further harm upon my heart or to draw us away from Azalea. However, that still leaves us with too many questions about where the innocents are being held, Nolan’s mother and sister among them.

A third keening sound fills the air, this one long and drawn out. It’s time.

Two dragons that were behind with Lenox soar past me, briefly blocking the rays of the sun before quickly riding at the front, their sharp black talons holding what feels like the beginning of the end. As Harlow—in her raven form—approaches with the two black griffins, Aurora halts above the border of the palace grounds, Zephlyn following suit.

Knox comes to hover beside us, his eyes raking over every inch of the raven, checking for injuries. It would be difficult to find one on a bird, but whatever he sees seems to satisfy him enough to where he turns his attention to the two dragons that enter the skies above the palace grounds.

I hold my breath, in fear, in anticipation. The rest do the same. It hums in the sky around us, the air charged with a current of electricity as my Fae sight lands on my treehouse in the distance, now run-down and cold without the tender care of my and Easton’s hands. A well of emotions rises, sailing through the burning anger that keeps all other feelings at bay.

This was once my safe haven. But it hasn’t been for a long time.

Before its demise, it was the only place to bring me comfort in the days of the abuse Peter inflicted upon me. It was the only safe spot I could land. The only place I could breathe, the only spot that I could truly relax the muscles in my body. It was the only place I never had to be wary of Peter’s fists.

Staring at it now, I’m grateful for the comfort it offered me for years, for the memories it holds of me and Easton. I’m surprised to feel a part of me is dying inside, knowing all of it is about to be lost. But this place has been tarnished for a long time, ruined by him the moment I found those innocent creatures trapped at the compound, and I’ll be thankful when it’s gone.

I want to be the one a step ahead. I want to be the one doing the unthinkable. I want to prove him wrong, and wipe the smug look off his face as his insipid demons tell him, Delilah burnt it to the ground.

Unfortunately, that anger that I’ve been harboring for months wanes, because what no one tells you is that grief never truly goes away. We just become compliant with the way our heart aches daily. I want to feel the anticipation and satisfaction on getting the upper hand on him, like everyone else around me does in this moment, but suddenly my heart plummets.

Easton was the greatest loss of my life.

He was the person that breathed life into my soul, the one that could pull a smile from my face when I wanted to end it all. He kept me alive on the days I wanted to die, and no matter how much time has passed, I still look at his murder as my fault.

And here I am torching our childhood asylum to the ground.

Peter wants to break me, and without my anger to keep me going, I fear he will succeed. I can’t allow him to win, not only for the innocence of Aloriah but for Easton. After all, he didn’t keep me alive this long just for me to give up at the next sign of pain.

Steeling myself, I allow my rage to coil around me like a shield again as I shove my grief and sadness aside. Now when I gaze down at the treehouse, it’s with a heart made of golden flames.

As the dragons’ wings stretch to their full width, time seems to stop. They arc around the treehouse, their sharp gazes narrowed on their prey, then dive, the sight of it stealing my breath. My heartbeat slows to a nonexistent thump as their talons withdraw, releasing the item they were carrying.

With one mighty beat of their wings, they’re ascending once more—fast and hard this time. Trying to beat out the two black canisters now plummeting toward the ground at an alarming rate.

Barely any sound escapes, almost as if it was a pin dropping to the floor.

But what can be heard is what comes after it hits in the blink of an eye.

Knox activates a second shield, one extending to the returning dragons as a blinding white light explodes, the ground surrounding the treehouse uprooting. The fire blast climbs higher and higher, bursting in all directions. Leaving a path of destruction and chaos in its wake.

Within a matter of a millisecond, the treehouse is gone, leaving only a plume of smoke and a scattering of debris.

The aftershocks follow, barreling toward us, the Deyanira Mountains, and the palace itself. The wave eats up the distance between us within a single heartbeat, only to crash violently off Knox’s shield. He buckles against the force, his face tensing.

It only takes one peek down the bridge between our minds for me to discover how much power Knox is exerting to hold off the blast from entering the Fae lands. And only another second for me to raise my hands.

This was not a part of the plan. Knox will rip my head off once we’re safe, but it’s an easy decision, one that has my magic sighing as it rises.

Please don’t fail me , I whisper to my magic.

Tipping my head back, I submerge myself into my never-ending pool of golden power. It happens quickly, as if my power is scared I’ll change my mind and call it back. It races through my body, into my bones, and, before I can command it, explodes.

A shimmering golden wall blasts around us, traveling far and wide along the border of both the Fae lands and the sectors of the human lands. Stopping the wave of destruction from burning everything to the ground. I may want Peter dead, but I’m nothing like him. I won’t destroy innocents to get to him.

Knox’s shield retracts, slowly at first, as if testing my ability. He must feel it, the way I remain unharmed, the unending strength coursing through my body as my magic praises me for letting it off the short leash I’ve kept it on. Despite the goodness that it’s doing, I can’t stop the kernel of panic that my power is going to wash me away.

It’s overbearing. There’s so much more than I ever thought. It continues to rise, despite all that I use.

Now the panic truly sets in.

Knox is racing down my bridge in the next breath as he feels me try to rein in the power now running free. He flings open the door to my pool of magic and without hesitation, he plunges his hands inside, withstanding the sheer force of it. His fingers dig into my forearm upon contact, holding on for dear life. “Keep your mind aware, Delilah!” he bellows. “Don’t let the panic consume you!”

With Knox clutching me, I use it as a tether, a reminder of who I am and where I’m supposed to be. A reminder that I exist outside of my magic.

“That’s it, come back,” Knox coaxes, his voice soft and deep.

With Knox’s voice guiding me to the surface of my magic well, the power pouring out of me, almost consuming me with its strength, finally recedes. I grit my teeth and demand it to kneel to me. The shield lowers, slowly at first and then all at once as Knox pulls me out.

My eyes flutter open to find Knox, panting with his hand still wrapped around my arm. Once he sees me, conscious and free of the haze, Knox hangs his head. Relief pummels him as he heaves.

“Was anyone hurt?” I croak.

He shakes his head. “You have to warn me before you submerge yourself.”

“There was no time,” I say, voice hollow. I didn’t mean to get swept away is what I don’t add.

Over the passing weeks, it’s become harder to differentiate where my magic begins and where I end. The two have been merging, as if the golden power thrumming through my veins has slowly been consuming me. Although I’m certain it doesn’t mean harm, it’s been difficult to stay in control when using large bursts of it. In those moments, I could swear it rubs up against me, purring as if to apologize.

Knox’s head snaps upwards, and he shoves his relief and fear aside. “Time to go, Angel.” Letting out an ear-piercing whistle, Knox dips into every creature’s mind, including their riders, and gives the command for the next phase.

Returning to myself, I take in the destruction before us, the large crater the explosives left, and say a prayer to the forgotten gods that Knox and I were able to stop it from spreading to the Fae lands.

Aurora turns, her wings beating rapidly as she sits in the middle of the formation the dragons and griffins create around us. Her eyes never leave Zephlyn’s as he guards her front.

Knox tightens his hold on me, now sitting behind me atop Aurora. “Can you do this without submerging yourself?” he asks.

“Here’s hoping,” I mutter under my breath.

A deadly roar pierces the air, eliciting a chill down my spine. Aurora stiffens below me, a vicious growl leaving her lips.

“Now, Delilah!” Knox commands.

Leaning back into his warmth, with his hands as my anchor, I cup my palms and submerge them into my well, careful to only take what I need while demanding that it listen to my command. Feeling my body shift and mold, my very being becoming hidden from sight, I let out a steadying breath as I imagine blowing the magic and my power onto those around us. Allowing the opaque golden shimmer to spread over every strand of fur and talon.

Within moments, I feel Knox’s body sag with relief as I make our legion disappear from sight.

Thank you , I whisper to my power, not at all surprised when it seems to hum in response. It’s just in time, as hundreds of demonic creatures rise to our right, flying toward the blast site. A plague spreading throughout the sky. A darkness with no end in sight.

They were waiting for us , I say along the bridge.

He must have known one of his demons would be foolish enough to slip up.

Does this mean he’s preparing to attack Azalea?

I wouldn’t put anything past him. We need to be prepared for anything.

“Disgusting mutts,” Harlow spits, coming to fly beside us now in her Fae form.

The darkness never stops coming, the hundreds turning into a thousand creatures, all salivating at the chance to destroy the golden princess. My golden shield was practically a beacon for their thirst. My body physically recoils at the sight of their rotting corpses.

“Anything from Nolan?” Lenox asks Knox.

“Nothing yet.”

The reason we all decided to burn the treehouse, allowing Peter and his mutts to believe we walked blindly into a trap, was to lead them astray. Have them think our focus is on the treehouse when in actuality our eyes are on Azalea’s shores, teeming with thousands of soldiers led by Nolan, waiting for Peter to try and conquer our city.

My brows furrow. “What if it wasn’t Azalea he planned to attack?” Because one thing is for certain, the thousands of demonic creatures now surrounding the remnants of the in-between are only a small portion of the army the king has been creating for years.

“I sent word to the other courts. We have to pray they listened to me and are on high alert,” Knox murmurs, his eyes locked on something in the distance.

Following his gaze, it only takes a second to wish I hadn’t.

A hush falls over our small legion, the dragons brimming with a fiery passion so thick it threatens to suffocate the bubble of invisibility I still hold over us.

What has anger rising, hearts dropping, and stomachs somersaulting is the sight below—the war raging between the Fae and our creatures, and the dark plague of Peter’s demonic army.

Blood, both crimson and as dark as oil, plagues the terrain and the border the Fae so rightfully refuse the demons to penetrate. The sweat and tears our kind pour into the line of defense to keep the Fae lands safe makes my heart swell.

The battle snakes for miles upon miles, all the way to the east and west shores.

War is not a beautiful sight. It is a travesty of blood, gore, and death.

Usually when I watch Fae fight, it is in admiration at the power and speed in which they move. But there is nothing beautiful to behold watching Fae fight for their next breath. It is a devastation that steals the air from my lungs at the wrongness—the injustice—of it all.

Just two weeks ago Knox received a report from Nolan about a thirteen-year-old Fae boy from Cardania who was found crushed to death along the front lines, stabbed in several places, his eyes unseeing toward the sky.

Thirteen.

Thousands of years stolen by a demon’s blade. A lifetime of memories taken within the blink of an eye.

The ages of those who are sent to the front continue to lower as, day after day, we lose dozens—hundreds. We’re running out of warriors, because no matter how many demons we kill, they continue to come back. Their numbers are never-ending, while ours are gone for good.

Pure soul after pure soul is taken, stolen by the dark, rotting hearts of demons.

And that’s the thing we cannot fight against—the power the creatures siphon from killing.

The Fae and our magic are pure; we don’t profit off the deaths we inflict. If anything, it chips away at a part of our soul each time. But dark magic is fueled every time they slash our hearts.

The only thing that is known to truly kill a demonic creature and the black magic thrumming through its veins is the power of an archangel.

Which is extinct—or so we thought, if my dream is anything to go off of.

* * *

Hours later, with aching stiff legs, I descend from Aurora’s harness. She doesn’t give me a second glance before taking off in the direction Zephlyn prowled, chuffing a quiet, sad cry.

Lenox strides inside the estate, his back and shoulders rigid. Harlow trails behind him, shooting daggers at the back of his head, but I call out to her before she can pick a fight. “Harlow, wait.”

She pauses, cocking a hip and crossing her arms. “Summoning me now, are we?”

I tamp down the urge to roll my eyes. “What do you know about languages?”

Harlow’s brow shoots into her hairline and a small part of me feels satisfaction at catching her off guard.

“What do you need to know about languages?”

Knox comes to stand beside me, his face pensive as he mirrors Harlow’s stance. “Have you ever heard this before?” he asks. As the question leaves his lips, Harlow’s brown eyes grow unseeing, lost to Knox showing a portion of the dream to her.

It isn’t long before her eyes snap back, narrowing on me. “When did you receive this?”

“Early this morning.”

“I know that language.” Her head whips to Knox, her red-streaked hair swaying with the swiftness of it. “Is it truly them?”

Knox’s brows rise. “Them who?”

“Don’t be coy, I’d know that language anywhere because it’s rare . Did she see them?”

Harlow’s eyes glaze again as Knox shows her the entirety of what he deems a vision. She rears back in shock as she comes to once more. “They’re still alive?”

“Sweep is clear,” Lenox announces, coming to stand in the open archway. “Who is alive?”

Harlow visibly tenses at the sound of his monotone voice; it takes her a moment before she forces herself to relax. Her eyes cut to the dense forest behind our backs, the cliff face where we buried Annie and Easton not too far from here.

“We should discuss this somewhere secure,” Harlow states before spinning around and striding into the house.

Knox sighs deeply before trailing after the small half-witch. “Guess we’re not sleeping tonight.”

I feel the need to point out that even when we have the time to sleep, he doesn’t. Although I don’t think he’d appreciate finding out that I know he can’t sleep because he watches over me, waiting for my nightmares to make me scream.