Page 65 of Sweet Venom Of Time (Blade of Shadows #6)

Chapter Twenty-Six

AMIR

T he air was thick with dust and sweat as I lunged forward, my blade cleaving through the dim haze of the training room buried deep within the underground palace.

Each clash of steel rang out like thunder in the darkness, echoing off ancient stone walls that seemed to close in tighter with every passing day.

This place was no sanctuary—it was a tomb where I buried my grief, one strike at a time.

Pain tore through my arm as my opponent landed a punishing blow, but I ignored it.

I welcomed it. The pain was better than the numbness.

With a guttural snarl, I pivoted and drove him back, my sword a blur of rage and discipline.

Sweat stung my eyes, and my muscles screamed, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.

Because if I stopped, I’d remember her.

The one thing I couldn’t bury, even in the darkest parts of myself.

She wandered into the forest like she was chasing something she couldn’t name.

But it was me. I kept my distance, barely glimpsing her. But I was there.

She didn’t know it—couldn’t know it.

She thought I was dead.

And still… she felt me.

Drawn to the silence between the trees, to the weight of my aura pressing through the branches like a ghost.

She lingered there, standing too long in the shadows, turning as if she might catch a hint of something not meant to be seen.

It wrecked me.

To be so close—to see the way her breath hitched, her arms wrapped tighter around herself like she sensed me there.

And I couldn’t go to her.

Couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t reach for her.

Not even when her eyes filled with tears and she looked straight through the place where I stood.

She didn’t know she was breaking me.

But gods…

She did.

Just by feeling me.

And I almost stepped out. Almost gave in.

Almost let the truth shatter everything.

But I didn’t.

I stayed in the dark.

And she walked away believing she was alone.

Elizabeth.

Her name was a blade in my mind, sharper than any steel.

I saw her in the flicker of torchlight, heard her in the rhythm of my breath, and felt her in the silence that always followed the fight.

The memory of her laughter—soft and bright—cut deeper than any wound.

And the loss? A chasm devoured me, a darkness I couldn’t escape.

“Amir, you need rest,” one of my men ventured, his voice hesitant, foolishly brave.

I turned, fixing him with a stare that chilled the room. He faltered, wisely stepping back. There were no words now. No explanations. My silence was a fortress—impenetrable, merciless. I had become the shadow I once feared.

I relived our final moments every night—the way her fingers slipped from mine, the way I let her go. And I hated myself for it.

The rage I harbored toward Lazarus coiled tighter within me, venomous and hot, burning just beneath the surface like molten steel.

He had ordered it—decreed that I sever the only connection that had ever brought light into my darkness.

And I had obeyed. Like a coward. Like a man with no will of his own.

Steel clashed again. Sparks flared. But I didn’t feel it.

I didn’t feel anything anymore.

I shook my head, trying to dispel her face from my mind’s eye. But it clung to me like a ghost. I gripped my sword tightly, the leather biting into my palms. “I’m going to visit her. One more time,” I whispered to the shadows, a vow spoken only to myself—a lie I allowed myself to believe.

Just once more. Just to see her.

But I knew the truth—I could never let her go. Not completely.

* * *

The humid air of the American continent clung to my skin as I stood hidden amidst the tall grasses of a vast, sunlit field.

Summer had drenched the land in vivid greens, the heat of 1762’s cruel sun bearing down like a punishment.

In the distance, I heard laughter—light and carefree—voices of the Sioux, their joy carried on the wind.

But my gaze was fixed on her.

Elizabeth.

She moved with a grace that stole the breath from my lungs as if the sweltering heat dared not touch her.

Her wheat-blond hair shimmered like spun gold in the sunlight, falling loosely down her back.

A dress of soft doeskin hugged her slender form, and by her side, Dancing Fire—my friend, my brother in arms—worked the earth beside her with a tenderness that twisted like a dagger in my chest.

I watched as he reached out, gently wiping sweat from her brow with a touch so careful and intimate that it made my hands ache to do the same.

But it wasn’t the touch that shattered me.

It was her belly—round and full of new life.

A child.

Was it mine?

How had I not noticed before?

The thought was a storm, thrilling and tormenting all at once. My heart pounded, torn between the hope that I had not lost everything… and the terror that I had.

With every smile Dancing Fire gave her, every wordless moment of affection, jealousy seared through me, hotter than the sun that blazed overhead. My fists clenched, nails biting into flesh, as the urge to stride into that field and take my place at her side warred with every oath I had sworn.

“Amir,” I whispered, voice like gravel. “You have no claim here. You begged him to protect her.” I forced the words out like poison. “You’ll alert Salvatore if he senses your presence. You’ll doom her.”

Still, my fists tightened. My heart raced.

And in the silence between the wind and my breath, I stood on the edge of breaking, longing to tear apart their peaceful world… to feel her hand in mine again.

I could bear no more.

The rules of time were cruel. I had to wait for the next full moon to travel again. Until then, I was trapped—neither part of her world, nor able to escape it.

So I stayed.

Hidden in the forest’s edge.

Watching her.

Day after day. Night after night.

It was torture, standing so close and yet so far from the woman I loved desperately.

When the night of the full moon finally came, I turned away from the sight of Elizabeth in Dancing Fire’s care and reached for the blade beneath my cloak—the ancient dagger etched with markings older than any kingdom I’d ever crossed.

As its tip kissed my palm, time bent to my will.

I let the veil of time close around me, and in an instant, the moonlit field vanished.

The sudden sting of cold replaced the humid air.

I returned to the shadows of Anatolia’s underground palace—its walls damp, its silence suffocating. The transition left me reeling. The contrast between her warmth and this stone tomb only deepened the abyss inside me.

I stormed through the labyrinth of corridors, my footsteps thundering with each stride.

Fury boiled beneath my skin, no longer contained or hidden behind the mask I had worn for far too long.

My dark eyes scorched with a fire I hadn’t felt in months, and I could no longer restrain the storm rising within me.

I burst into Lazarus’ study, the door slamming against the wall with a deafening crack. He looked up from his ancient tomes, unbothered, serene as if he’d expected me.

“How long?” I snarled, every word laced with venom. “How long were you going to keep it from me that Elizabeth is pregnant with my child?”

My voice echoed through the stone chamber like the roar of a beast, raw and unrelenting. The air crackled with tension, thick with the weight of betrayal.

Lazarus’ gaze didn’t waver. He met my rage with maddening calm, his expression unreadable—like stone worn smooth by centuries of storms.

“I assumed you’d figure it out,” he said, his voice devoid of regret as if this were a minor inconvenience, as if he hadn’t stolen everything from me. “You went to see her. I warned you of the dangers.”

The fury in me snapped its chains.

My fist slammed down onto the heavy oak desk, shaking the room. The sound was thunder, the force enough to splinter the inlay of ivory along the edges. Books tumbled to the floor. The flames in the hearth danced wildly in response.

“You knew!” I bellowed, voice hoarse with anguish. “You knew she was carrying my child and said nothing!”

I took a staggering breath, trying to tame the chaos threatening to consume me, but it was useless. “I saw her,” I choked out, each word a blade. “For a moment. Just one moment. Her belly was full of life. My child. Ours. And he—Dancing Fire—was at her side. Tending to her. Protecting her.”

My hands clenched into tight fists, my knuckles turning white as I struggled to contain the surge of anguish that threatened to consume me.

“Well, consider your reaction,” Lazarus said, his voice taut.

“Are you mad? She’s bearing my child. My child!” The words escaped through gritted teeth, each syllable heavy with disbelief and raw emotion.

“Children.” Lazarus quirked an eyebrow, his expression unreadable, as if regarding a stubborn pupil. “When I took her blood to cloak her, I heard the heartbeats. There are two of them.”

“Twins?” The word left me in a whisper, disbelief, and wonder battling in my chest. A surge of protectiveness rose like a storm tide as I pictured Elizabeth carrying not one but two lives—a double miracle… or a double curse?

“Yes.” Lazarus’ voice deepened as if the shadows leaned in to hear him speak.

“When I saved you both from that masquerade… when I began to heal her…” His eyes darkened with memory.

“That’s when I heard them—the heartbeats.

Two of them. And in that moment, I knew.

It was my chance. My only chance to perform the ritual of soul rebirth. ”

My heart lurched. “Lazarus, you’ve told me before that using such powerful rituals weakens you. Why do this to yourself… to Elizabeth?”

His face tightened, pain flickering in his eyes before it was swallowed by iron resolve. “Amir, we must bring Armand back. Salvatore is gaining ground with Alina and Mathias at his side. He’s forging alliances that will crush us if we do not strike first. This was my moment to act… and I did.”