Page 12 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion (Tales of a Monstrous Heart, #2)

Chapter Eight

Kat

Serus.

The first prince of the dark, created of the depths of the Old Gods’ magic and moonlight. Manifesting with pale, forsaken demon fire. Who wielded an ancient shadow sword, the only blade that could challenge the fire of a Kysillian’s. The King who never was. The Old Gods’ weapon.

Myth of the Old Gods – Unknown

Serus.

Tales that never mattered before haunted me now. The Verr histories they said were nothing but dark fairy tales. All the things that should never have been forgotten.

My moments of consciousness were a fleeting blur.

A tangle of dreams and madness. Alma’s rumbling purr against the crook of my neck from her feline form.

The rustling of pages and the endless stories of plant herbs and common weeds echoed into my dreams from William.

Then there was the annoyed grumbling of a voyav as if bored with the drama of my death.

The image that came most clearly to my mind was the dark form of Emrys slumped in the chair at my bedside.

Head bowed, dark hair falling onto his brow.

Hand still resting on the covers as if he’d been holding my own.

Those dark-tipped fingers, shadows weaving between his knuckles.

That small crescent moon at his index finger.

How he was reaching out for me in the moonlight-drenched bedroom – just as he had in that pit.

Pressed flat against the bloody ashen earth, reaching for me, desperate and pleading.

Stay and forgive me.

Please.

The pain in that plea. I wanted to reach for him, to wake him, but this was still a dream. So I used the last of my strength to slide my fingers so gently between his own. That dark power brushing my skin in comfort as if to hold me tighter.

‘Shh.’ The groggy sound left my lips as those shadows sank contentedly back into his pale flesh and exhaustion dragged me down into my dreamless sleep once more. Where that name lingered the most.

Serus .

It was almost on my lips, pulling me back into the discomfort of waking hours later.

Limbs too sore and heavy as the dim winter morning light filtered through the window, too much for the pain at my temples.

Making me wince as I rolled deeper into the sanctuary of the covers with a muted groan.

I expected to see the worried imposing form of Emrys from my dreams. Or Alma.

To hear the comforting tones of William’s voice.

However, it appeared my misfortunes would continue.

Thean Page was the first thing I saw, slouched in a wing-backed chair next to the bed, feet up on the counterpane as they rubbed an apple on the lapel of their pristine, fawn-coloured hunting coat.

Short auburn hair brushed back from their handsome face, eyes heavily lined with dark make-up despite the masculine form they’d chosen this morning.

The white shirt creased and unbuttoned halfway to reveal their sun-kissed skin and the runes painted there.

‘Maybe you should check your heritage.’ They smiled sharply enough to show fangs, unsurprised to see me awake despite the fact I was certain I was dead. ‘I didn’t believe Kysillians were this resilient.’

We aren’t. The distant memory of a stormy night in the long grass came back to me, uncertain if it was last night or days ago. Emrys’s anguish and William’s worry, the biting cold and the madness.

‘What do you want, Thean?’ I groaned, my head resting heavily on the pillow.

‘I’m merely here for curiosity,’ they answered with the biting crack of the apple, ‘to see how long this madness can last.’

Madness.

Kysalor . The power of one word to remind me so vividly of every failure. Shame rolled through me. I’d lost control.

How that seal had shattered like delicate glass beneath my bare bloody feet. That dark smoke forming claws. Pulling me down and clawing at my flesh. Refusing to let me go. Starved of its vengeance.

Tears burnt my eyes as I focused on the midnight fabric above the bed, the dark wood and the intricacy of the carving. Noticing this wasn’t my room, the strong scent of beasam bark and the familiar seductive chill of the remnants of his magic. Making something uncertain swoop through me.

The memory of falling into the same bed. The cage of Emrys’s body around me, the seductive drag of his lips up the curve of my throat.

This was Emrys’s room.

Thean continued with their apple, unbothered by my sudden flush of memory. I turned my head, wanting to tell them to leave. Only to see their attention on the fire, revealing a horrid purple smear of bruising on their sharp jaw.

‘What happened to your face?’ I frowned and tried to prop myself higher up on the mound of pillows behind me. Those sharp eyes turned back to take me in with barely contained annoyance.

‘Ask your dark prince.’ Irritation flashed in their expression.

Fingers gently tracing the injury before falling back into their lap.

‘He clearly isn’t amused by my humour where you’re involved.

Then again, if you were attempting to lead him into madness, rolling around in your nightgown in the rain certainly worked. ’

Their smile was wicked, as their head fell back against the chair so they could shift their focus to the open doorway.

It was then I realised they hadn’t been waiting for me to wake up. No. They’d been waiting for someone else.

A moment later Alma appeared in the doorway. Her dark hair in unfamiliar disarray.

‘What are you doing?’ A stack of towels dropped from her arms with her surprise of seeing the voyav.

Landing in a heap at her feet, she ignored them, gathering up her grey skirts to stumble over the mess, striding right for Thean.

A menace in each step that I knew too well, a flush on her darker skin.

‘Helping,’ Thean reassured her, folding their arms as if excitedly readying themself for whatever performance she was about to offer. That the claws beginning to sprout from her fingertips were for amusement, not warning.

‘You can’t be in a ladies bedchamber!’ She leered over the voyav’s larger masculine form, hands braced on her hips.

‘This is Emrys’s room, darling,’ Thean pointed out wryly.

‘It’s improper.’ Scales peppered her cheeks at the challenge.

Thean’s grin sharpened and in the mere blink of an eye, their male form shifted easily until the female one took its place. Long luscious hair cascading over their shoulders as they fluttered long lashes, the low buttoning of the blouse almost revealing full breasts.

‘Better?’ they asked, eyes gleaming with delight as Alma’s face only got redder, bumpy green ridges rising at her throat.

‘If you want to be disembowelled , carry on,’ Alma ground out between fanged teeth, one finger pointed in a warning that ended with a deadly sharp claw.

‘Careful, darling, you might arouse me,’ Thean teased, and I saw a slight tremor up Alma’s spine. As if she was about to leap out of her dress and make good on her promise.

‘Alma.’ I reached for her across the covers.

She froze. An unsteady breath slipped from between her lips before she turned cautiously, hesitant as if she could have imagined my voice. The barest tremble in her hands where they fell limply to her sides as those bright green eyes met my own.

So human and lost. How she stared at me blankly for the longest moment, as if she didn’t recognise me. I felt like she wouldn’t. As if I’d been unmade and pushed back together in all the wrong places.

‘Kat.’ It was the barest whisper. I felt the sting of my tears, the tremble of my lip as I tried to smile. That broke the spell over her as tears rolled down her own cheeks.

‘Kat!’ She tripped over Thean’s sprawled legs as she grabbed my hand and clambered onto the bed. Not giving me a moment before she crushed me against her chest. Sobbing softly against my neck, her whole body shaking in my weak hold. She’d lost weight, too small and thin in my arms.

‘You bloody bastard madwoman,’ she wept. I felt the sharp dig of her claws into my back. Not caring for the discomfort. She was here.

Stay right here with me . Another command I’d followed long ago from her lips.

A memory coming to the forefront of my mind. Alma’s small face covered in soot and blood. Filthy hair singed as she shivered in the darkness of the burning wood. Fat snowflakes clinging to her lashes as she pressed snow against my burning flesh.

Go , I’d begged, knowing they’d come after I’d killed Daunton. That it wouldn’t be long until they found us. How they’d never let us go.

How she’d huddled over me, shielding me from the snow in nothing but her nightgown, letting my head rest in her lap. How tears made tracks across her filthy cheeks. The map of bruising across her skin up to her brow. So thin and small.

I’m staying right here with you, she’d answered. Her fingers finding my own, despite what my hands had done. How my skin still burnt.

How easily I’d killed them. The last time I’d lost control of my flame. When I’d turned our nightmares to ash.

The memory made emotion burn in my throat. How ruthless I’d been then. How foolish I’d been now. How she’d remained all the same. How easily I’d ruined everything once more.

‘I’m so sorry, Alma.’ My voice broke.

‘Never leave me again,’ was her answer as she laid a kiss on my tear-dampened cheek. Not a threat or a command. A gentle request as she pulled herself back the barest inch to look over her shoulder at Thean, whose gaze was on her backside, which was in their face.

‘Make yourself useful and go and fetch something,’ she snapped, wiping at the tears on her cheeks with irritation. ‘Master Swift or some food, perhaps?’

Thean scowled in response, then gracefully got to their feet. Looking down at our display of affection with a blank expression, lips parting probably to deliver a cruel remark but Alma’s attention had returned to fretting over me.

Thean vanished without another word.