Page 78 of The Last One Standing (Rogue X Ara #4)

“The one and only time I had the displeasure of meeting my son…” Her eyes shifted from her sister to mine, and that regret was still there, heavy as it was moments ago—years ago. “She was there. He brought her, and he…he wanted to know who her mate was.”

Rogue’s breath turned audible, rain sizzling on his heated skin. “‘What did you just say?”

“I was nineteen,” I said, swallowing hard. Just a kid. “He forced me to come with him to a lake, and she appeared.” And I was scared. So fucking scared. I scrunched my eyes, those feelings slamming into my chest like they were fresh. “She told him you were my mate.”

Rogue spun me into him and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, warm and solid. Real.

“What did you do?” Iaso ground out every syllable before screaming, “What did you do?”

Feet sprinted on wet sand, followed by the sickening thud of a fist hitting flesh.

Fighting.

Screams and pouring rain.

Waves crashing.

Cold on my back, heat on my front.

The world blurred.

“Rogue,” I cried out, grasping at his shirt, but my fingers waded through the fabric like black smoke.

I swirled my fingers through the rising smoke, sitting cross-legged at the edge of the fire pit beneath the lean-to, my hair wet but drying. Rain slowed to a drizzle, speckling the wooden roof.

The war ended a year ago today.

Days passed, weeks, months, a full year.

Yet I still waited on bated breath, bracing for the next attack, watching for the flash of movement, a quick shadow, the glint of a blade, listening for the distant scream or roar or battle cry.

The smells were worse. Any metallic scent crawled down my throat to choke me, too close to that of blood.

A log popped, and I flinched, dropping my hand to my lap.

“Why are we meeting here?” I asked, cutting Adon off mid-sentence. I hadn’t been listening, anyway.

He released an annoyed huff, and another thick wave of his black haze invaded my mind.

“Stop!” I snapped. “Stop doing that.”

“Then, stop being an insolent child.” He glared at me with what could only be described as disdain, but partially cleared his fog. “Sit.”

I ground my teeth and did as he commanded.

He returned his gaze to the book in his hands. “Our plan is well on its way.”

“Our plan?” I asked, confused.

He closed his eyes and sucked in a slow, deliberate breath. “Only a few more years,” he muttered to himself. “Just a few more years.”

“What plan, Adon? I don’t even know why I’m here.”

That wasn’t exactly true. I was here because he forced my presence. No amount of refusal or fight worked with him.

“Because, not-so-little mutt, I’ve been a patient man—a stubborn man for twenty years, raiding every library in existence to figure out a way to save my oldest friend, and then, biding my time.”

Twenty years ? He couldn’t have been more than six or seven twenty years ago.

“You are, unfortunately, a vital piece of this very intricate and infuriating puzzle.”

I knew it. I knew he was deranged. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Can I warn Father without getting my head bitten off in the process?

“What puzzle?” I asked cautiously as I scooted around the fire, closer to him.

He regarded me before lifting the thin book in his hands. It could hardly be more than a few dozen pages, stitched into a leather binding.

I tilted my head to read the title on the cover: The Blood and the Broken. “I’ve seen you with that before, haven’t I?”

He scanned my face, eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

I nodded, pretending to follow the book down to his lap, but there, in its sheath, was his dagger, glinting in the firelight.

My heart beat in my throat as I inched closer. “What’s it about?”

“It’s a journal from centuries ago—a famous seer’s journal. It’s mostly the ramblings of a madman, but between the scribbles and sketches, there’s power to be found. Spells, curses, and rituals.”

I understood his obsession now. Like calls to like.

I’d never see daylight again, but Father needed to know. He’d surely lock both the doors and windows when he found out I’d snuck out, then throw away all the keys when he found out I snuck out with a man, King Adon no less.

“Veil walking does that to a person, especially a seer. It blurs the line between real and not real, life and death, our realm and theirs. He sacrificed his mind to speak with the dead and learn as much as he could from them.”

I glanced at him, then at his dagger.

He flicked the book open to the page his thumb held.

“A poem?” I asked, hiding my grimace.

“A ritual,” he whispered, lifting his eyes to mine. He cupped my cheek, and I tensed, bile rising in my throat. More black smoke drifted in. Thick. Thicker.

I had no thoughts of my own, a captive in my own body.

My breath sawed in and out as he slid his thumb over my cheekbone. “You are my silver-eyed moon.”

I couldn’t grab his weapon, or run in the opposite direction, or even shake my head, so I settled for grinding my teeth.

He finally dropped his hand, and I closed my eyes, shoulders sagging on an exhale.

“We have you. We’ll have your mate soon enough.” He scowled, winding his fingers around the hilt of his dagger and unsheathing it. I started to shuffle away from him, but he stabbed the tip of it into the wooden floor. “We have Sacrifice. All we need is Severance. Then, we wait.”

Firelight flickered in the bloodstone in the pommel as the blade rocked back and forth.

My heart thundered, eyes flashing from the weapon to him.

I lunged and tumbled into darkness.