Page 70 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion (Tales of a Monstrous Heart, #2)

Sensing where my thoughts had gone, one eye opened. Such a beautiful light grey as he reached for me, pulling me down to rest against his chest.

‘A lecherous drunkard.’ He pressed his lips to the side of my head. ‘What a type you have, Miss Woodrow.’

I couldn’t help but laugh, settling against him. My thumb tracing the edge of his jaw, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my cheek. Realising just how tired I was in the absence of all my panic.

‘Speak, Croinn,’ he asked softly, sleepily as the hearth dimmed.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ I had too many words smothered inside of me. Too much hope and too many fears. Unable to understand how everything was unravelling, all the loose ends I hadn’t yet been able to catch.

‘Anything. Everything is better when I can hear your voice.’ His magic made a soothing pass over my arm, raising gooseflesh in its wake.

‘ Amartis . Do you – do you know what that means?’ I asked, tracing those dark marks on his skin across his chest. Following the scars that led to that mark right over his heart.

He didn’t answer but his hand caught my own, pressing it against his skin more firmly. That ring glinting in a flare of orange light from the hearth.

I pushed up slightly, tipping my head to see his beautiful soft grey eyes watching me, waiting.

‘Call me back to you. Wherever. In whichever life,’ I smiled. A Kysillian devotion I knew the stories told. That he’d know that promise in its simplest form, know it from the tales that had survived. ‘I’m yours.’

He went still, so many thoughts moving across his shadowed features. As if trying to sense a lie.

‘You knew what I was then,’ his words were rough, almost with warning. The doubt he expected to see. That I’d want him so completely, even knowing it would never end well.

‘I was already yours.’ I didn’t let my smile falter, let him see the depth of just how much I meant it. Watched the lavender of my own gaze reflected in the depths of his. ‘Even if it was never meant to be. Even if it ended in that pit, even if it led to nothing but my ruin. I was yours, Emrys.’

Even if it was wrong and never destined to be. I’d still want this right here. Cursed or not.

‘Kat.’ My name was so quiet and so broken from his lips as he curled me closer into his arms.

‘You’re stuck with me,’ I taunted softly, wrapping my arms around him. Relishing in the weight of him on top of me.

‘Careful.’ He pressed a kiss lightly at my throat before the scratch of his stubble came at my jaw and his lips found my own. ‘Verr take vows very seriously, Croinn.’

‘ Amartis ,’ I repeated between his kiss. Offered my soul. My heart. Everything. Watching a tremor move through him at the pleasure of it.

‘Thank you for staying with me.’ The words were so soft as his head rested on the pillow next to my own.

‘Where else would I be?’ I asked, but he was already asleep.

I lay there with the comfort of Emrys’s magic around me, but I couldn’t rest.

The house as always, seemed to sense my unease – a sliver of golden light crept across the room, the bedroom door opening ever so slightly. From the rustle of papers I heard beyond, I knew it didn’t lead into the hallway.

Then I realised, Gideon had taken care of Emrys. He’d left to see to William and I knew without a doubt he’d probably assessed Alma too – even at the risk of getting bitten.

Yet, who had checked on him?

Careful not to disturb Emrys, I slid from the bed and pulled on my robe.

I made my way to the door to find the study beyond bathed in nothing but firelight, playing over the small form of Alma curled up on the chaise before it. So tightly I wondered if she still thought she was in cat form, her dark curls poking out in disarray from beneath the blanket concealing her.

Gideon sat at his desk, a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

‘Gideon?’ I asked, watching him turn with one raised brow as if anticipating my interruption. Looking just as tired as I felt. Only I understood his reluctance to rest.

‘Before you lecture me … it’s fucking apple tea,’ he sighed, taking another sip from the glass before he sat forward so his elbows rested on his knees and rubbed his neck with those metal fingers, wincing as though they pinched the skin. ‘How is he?’

‘Sleeping.’

‘Thank you.’ He looked up at me but defeat still sat heavy on his shoulders as he turned his attention to Alma. ‘I told her to go to bed. Unsurprisingly, she told me to sod off.’

A quiet laugh left me. How I missed her when she was right there. How our quiet moments alone seemed so seldom.

‘What of William?’ I asked.

‘Chucking his guts up. He never was good with portal stones – never mind whatever in the dark gods’ name that was,’ Gideon sighed. ‘I gave him a tonic and put him to bed. Had to move about fifty fucking brambles off his bed.’

He held up his hand as evidence, showing the small red scratches across his non-metal palm that made me smile.

I was unsure of what to say after the strange intimacy of the last few hours. My eyes fell to the papers scattered on Emrys’s desk between us, searching for anything to talk about. Seeing uneven letters, wobbly as if made by a child’s hand, the corners covered in small drawings.

‘These are children’s notes. Are they William’s?’ I frowned, turning another page. Seeing the detailed words of Verr history. Line after line, so neat.

‘They’re Emrys’s,’ his answer was reluctant, almost guarded. ‘Father took him to the ruins. Made him write down their secrets. From as young as he could understand. I think that’s why he’s always been committed to understanding it. Even now.’

Of course. He’d understand Verr even if he’d never heard it.

Grief clawed at my heart for the boy he’d been. Made to feel that he was a curse. A danger.

‘He was only a child,’ I whispered. I hated it. Hated how long he’d feared this and it had come to pass. ‘He isn’t like Montagor.’

Emrys wasn’t cruel and he wasn’t mad. He didn’t seek to destroy this world or the fey that occupied it. He didn’t crave power. Not like the stories claimed he should. He’d lost control in that village because he was trying to protect something. Not mindlessly tear it apart.

Gideon rubbed at his temple, wary with his own theories. ‘I don’t think Emrys and Montagor were made the same way.’

The pages slipped from my grasp. ‘What do you mean?’

He sat back in his chair, the metal of his finger whirring as they drummed on his knee.

‘The Old Gods were said to be tricksters and bargain makers. The demon princes weren’t really born, as such – they pass on their entire essence into anything they create.

I believe Emrys was born, why the control of his magic is so similar to fey.

That Serus indeed willed him to be created. ’

‘Why would Serus will that?’ Why would the Old God wish to wake? And if the Old God did … why wouldn’t he do something more destructive with his power?

Gideon moved to Emrys’s desk, turning the pages littered there until he pulled out a depiction of a dark figure, the crescent moon and an ancient sword sketched close by.

‘Serus was said to be the guardian of his people. It was why he took a cursed blade to the heart rather than sacrifice them. There also aren’t any records from the old ruins of him harming the fey. Nor his sister, the twin moon, Acara.’

Acara . The seer. Queen of the Damned. I knew only fragments of her. Daughter of the Old Gods. The only daughter. Yet, if Serus’s goal wasn’t to harm the fey, why would his tales be so tangled with that of the darkness beneath?

Gideon turned over another page, showing the other depictions of the Old God in question, the lamb standing beneath the crescent moon. ‘The siblings acted as guardians, the two united could tame the deadly night and keep the other more troublesome gods at bay.’

Yet the sealing of the earth would have torn them apart. Forced them beneath and rendered that protection useless.

‘There are stories of dark madness. Where the Old Gods or the princes possess a being for a short period of time. However, their sanity and their life soon run out. The darkness of the summoning burns though their lifeforce. My father believed Emrys would be consumed sooner rather than later. It was why he was adamant for him to never summon that side of his nature.’

He believed it would kill him or drive him mad. Neither had happened, which meant Serus wasn’t possessing Emrys. They were one and the same.

‘You think Montagor was made wrong?’ I asked.

‘I think Varin is trapped in Montagor’s head and will do anything to get out. However, if Varin consumes another vessel of the Old Gods’ power he’ll become more powerful than Emrys. So either he’s opening that seal to summon … or he’s hoping someone will turn up to stop him.’

Varin – one of the princes beneath, a creature of wrath. One that spilled fey blood across the lands and demanded worship. Varin wished to do battle with Serus. Just like in the tales. Only this time, no other princes or Old Gods were awake to pick sides.

‘Emrys should be as far from this shit as he can get and so should you.’ His warning was gentle – concerned, even. Reminding me that Callen was right about those elders.

Of what the Kysillian’s would do if they knew Verr existed. If they knew what lay between me and Emrys.

I didn’t wish to think on that. To think of the elders who slumbered far in the north, ignoring all this pain.

Just like those ancient beasts in their tales.

I turned my attention back to the table, something dark glinting in a flare of firelight.

Sitting amongst those papers was the hilt of a blade.

Tarnished silver with black gems decorating the hilt.

The blade of the Old Gods. The echo of Lady Ramsey’s voice penetrated my thoughts.

That darkness crafts blades with demon fire. They gleam and shatter seals. How cold they burn and decimate the fragility of fey magic. Too powerful to exist, even to their own kind.