Page 28 of THE SOULBOND AND HER BELOVED (Beasts Of Wrath And Madness #4)

Chapter twenty-eight

THE BEGINNING OF A TRUE END

Sacred relics gleamed beneath protective glass, set upon altars of blackwood and obsidian. Votive lights shined in iron sconces along the walls. Every detail spoke of reverence, tradition, old magic, and power.

Entering the hall, Daemonikai’s eyes landed on one object in particular. The Chalice.

Once awakened, it was one of the most powerful relics they ever possessed. Among its many abilities was the power to grant them strength on their night of weakness. Stolen during the last eclipse moon, Vladya had pried it from the human king’s dead fingers after he'd slain him.

Forcing that night away from his thoughts, Daemonikai ascended the dais, the gathered assembly rising in deference.

His eyes found her, as they always did. And as ever, something in him relaxed and softened.

Princess Emeriel sat among the highborn ladies and mistresses of Urai. Beside her was her sister. The two women leaned together, heads touching as they slept with a bowl of nuts rested precariously on their laps.

“Look at them," Daemonikai nudged Vladya with his elbow.

Vladya was already watching them, stopping beside Daemonikai instead of moving around to take his seat.

“It is the best feeling, seeing your female carrying your child. There is nothing like it,” Vladya said quietly.

“I know.” Daemonikai could sit and watch Emeriel all day, and never tire of it. “It doesn't help that they look as sweet as spring bloom, with their moods swinging from laughter to tears in the blink of an eye.”

Vladya huffed out a laugh. “Aekeira burst into tears yesterday because her broth was too hot. I was helpless what to do. It comes without warning.”

They were aware of the hall watching them—waiting for their rulers to sit before the rest of the gathering took their places. Following the line of their gaze, many in the crowd glanced toward the princesses.

A few snorted, others exchanged glances and rolled their eyes, but most smiled. The sight of the two women still seated while the others stood, heads pressed together in sleep, was enough to soften even the hardest lords.

“We had best take our seats.” Daemonikai forced himself to tear his gaze from Emeriel. He gestured subtly to the crowd before lowering himself onto his throne.

Before him, Vladya sat to the left side, Ottai already seated to his right. In between them, Zaiper’s throne stood conspicuously empty.

In the front row of mistresses, another chair remained unoccupied; the seat reserved for his bloodhost.

Daemonikai had heard everything that transpired in his absence after he regained consciousness three days later. Vladya told him Sinai brought her fate upon herself, but he still felt bad about his actions. As usual he remembered nothing of those hours.

But fortunately, the Mistress was alive, healing under care.

The ceremony moved forward, the solemn cadence of the sacred rites beginning. The priests and high elders took their places, beginning the murmured incantations.

***

The priestess stood over the wide bowl of water set upon the altar, a slender ceremonial blade poised in her hand.

“We give blood to the waning, so the waxing may thrive. Let no shadow devour the whole. Let no darkness steal its soul. Moonrise, moonrise—guard the light until its time.”

She drew the blade across her palm, drops of her blood falling into the waiting bowl.

The grand event hall was as still a tomb, the sacred rites demanding absolute silence. No one moved, not a breath stirred louder than a whisper of cloth.

However, a faint disturbance began beyond the hall’s great doors.

At first, it was a murmur. A distant scuffle, like the shift of restless feet. But it grew louder.

Voices now. Raised commands. The sharp rings of steel.

Inside the silent hall, the assembled clans glanced at each other with confusion. But none broke the sacred silence.

Daemonikai gestured to Wegai, who nodded once and signaled several soldiers. They left their posts, slipping away quietly to investigate.

The chaos outside growing.

The grand entrance doors flew open with a crash, and standing there, behind the great doors, was the last person Daemonikai expected to see.

“Oracle?” He straightened, breaking the silence.

The old woman turned, looking behind her as if she expected something to follow. Then, with a wave of her staff, the grand entrance slammed shut of its own accord.

“Seal this door, barricades in place, now!” the Oracle ordered.

The guards hesitated, glancing at Daemonikai, who frowned but gave a curt nod.

They moved immediately, hauling the iron drawbars into place to reinforce the door.

Daemonikai turned back to the tense Oracle. “We are in the middle of the sacred rites for the Moonrise—”

“That can wait, Great Grand King.” Gripping her staff tightly, she walked forward, steps heavy, moving towards the center of the hall. “I bring news of great importance. It may be the last news I ever deliver, which is why I ask you to listen carefully. Do not interrupt me. Do not react, no matter how difficult it becomes. I have but little time to speak all that must be said.”

Daemonikai frowned deeper. As cryptic and maddening as she had always been, something in her tone rooted him in place. He exchanged a glance with Vladya, then Ottai. Both were tense too, and just as watchful.

“I am hunted,” the Oracle went on. “Those who wishes to keep this secret buried, pursue me. They will soon break down that door and try to undo my words. But I am the Oracle. I do not lie, and most of all, always remember... it's not a lie if every bone in my body shatters as I speak truths never meant to pass my lips.”

“Oracle.” Vladya rose. “This seems highly dangerous—”

“Five hundred years ago, under the eclipse moon, one of us betrayed our kind.”

A ripple ran through the hall, but the clans sat frozen. Eyes wide. Breath held.

“It was never the humans,” she stated in a loud reverberating tone. “One of our own joined forces with a dark mage, using the human king as a pawn. One of us brought disaster upon our land. One of us opened the gates to slaughter.”

Blood burst from her lips, and a strangled cry tore from her throat. She doubled over, one hand clutching at her side, blood staining the front of her robes.

Daemonikai’s pulse thundered in his ears.

Slowly, he rose from his throne, and so did Ottai—but no one interrupted. Dead silence rang in the hall.

The Oracle straightened, shaking. Her pale eyes found Daemonikai’s.

“It was never young Alvin, but dark magic planted in his mind,” she said hoarsely. “Our people fell beneath the blades of humans, yes—but it was one of ours who brought them here.” Another sharp cry as she clutched at her chest, staggering. “One of ours stole the Chalice… so our people would be weak… defenseless,” she gasped.

Daemonikai could not breathe. Or perhaps he was breathing too fast. He was not certain.

His lungs burned as though deprived of air, but in his ears was the harsh rasp of his own breathing.

This is not real. This cannot be real.

They rang through his mind like a chant As he met Vladya’s eyes. Then Ottai’s. Then the stunned, pale faces of his people.

And then… the bleeding Oracle before them all.

The bleeding Oracle, who would not bleed if she spoke false. The bleeding Oracle, who never interfered, never crossed the boundary of her sacred oath. And yet, here she stood, willing to risk everything—her vows, her life —just to deliver a truth that did not seem real. But it was.

Outside, the commotion raged on. The sounds of combat carried faintly into the great hall. The clash of steel, the snarls of beasts, the shouts of men. The battle was not dying down, growing worse.

“I cannot go into details,” the Oracle panted, gripping her staff with a shaking hand, the wood slick with the blood that trailed from her fingertips. “Already… my life drains away, so I will use what little remains to give you the names of the ones responsible. The mastermind who betrayed his own kind.”

A loud bang! split the air, jolting everyone’s attention to the grand entrance.

The thick doors shuddered. The iron drawbars groaned as they shifted under the impact.

Another bang! followed, louder this time. The doors trembled again.

The third was a brutal, deafening crash! and it splintered the heavy wood, the planks of the barricade snapping and scattering across the floor.

“Who dares do this!?” Daemonikai roared. “Stop this at once!”

A beast stomped in through the broken doorway, snarling as it shifted. Bones cracked, muscle shrank, and a male stood in its place.

Somehow… Daemonikai already knew.

From the force of the commotion and the audacity to break into the event hall— even when ordered not to , somehow, he'd known it would be Zaiper.

“Do not believe the lies of that withered hag!” Zaiper barked stalking forward, fury blazing in his eyes.

“Zaiper, what is the meaning of this?” Vladya growled.

Daemonikai glanced at him. There was fear in Vladya’s eyes.

Not confusion, not outrage. Fear.

The same bone-deep fear he was sure was reflected in his own eyes.

Because the Oracle’s words were coming together. And they made sense.

“She dares to slander the Dragaxlov name!” Zaiper thundered, drawing his blade, taking a step toward the Oracle in open threat. “I will not stand for this!”

In a blur of speed, Vladya was between them, pushing the shaking female behind him with one arm.

“The Dragaxlov name?” High Chief Yazaro of the Northern Clans rose slowly to his feet, his brow wrinkled together. “But… she has not mentioned any names yet.”

Zaiper stopped short. Blinked once. “She has not?”

Yazaro shook his head, his face pale. “What exactly is going on here?”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Cold.

Was it really chilly in here, or is it my insides making ice? Daemonikai’s feet remained pinned on the spot.

Zaiper seemed to realize what he'd done, stepping back slowly, lifting his hands to placate. “It seems I may have misunderstood. I'm not certain what is happening here, and that's my mistake.” His smile was strained. “But in any case, I will be taking the Oracle away now. If you will excuse me.”

The Oracle doubled over, shuddering and coughing aggressively.

Daemonikai forced his frozen limbs to move. In the space of a heartbeat, he was beside Vladya, his hand closing around the Oracle’s frail shoulders. Together, they guided her back to the dais, supporting her failing body.

There were so many things he wanted to say, so many questions he needed to ask, and so many truths he needed to hear from her. But only one thing mattered now.

Gripping her shoulders, Daemonikai held her upright as her weight sagged into his hands. He brought his face close to hers, locking eyes with that ancient gold, ringed in black, dimming fast.

“I need to hear you say it.” His furious voice shook as much as his hands. “Give me their names.”

“He is… responsible for everything…” the Oracle's face reflected a great physical pain no one could see. “The females in heat… disappearing.” A cough sprayed blood over Daemonikai’s hands. “The assassin… who tried to kill you… while you fought soul-sickness.” Another splatter of blood. “The current state… of your mind.”

Tears blurred Daemonikai’s vision as the Oracle fell into the crook of his arm.

Must hold back. Information first, breakdown later. He shook her. “His name, Oracle!”

Zaiper’s voice cracked across the hall. “Do not believe anything that—!”

“ Silence! ” Daemonikai roared, trying hard to suppress his pheromones. Even the slightest release would affect the dying female in his arms, and not in a good way. “His Name! Shout it for all to hear!”

“Grand Lord Zaiper!” The Oracle shouted, followed by a wailing cry of such excruciating pain, it would forever be etched in the minds of all who heard it. “He was the mastermind behind everything. Joined forces with—”

The coughing fit was even more aggressive. Turned unending.

The carved glyphs on her staff began to glow and sparkle. Then, at last, the Oracle’s eyes closed, and her body went limp.

The staff slipped from her fingers, clattering against the floor.

Daemonikai lowered her gently to the ground, laying her out respectfully. For a second, he remained kneeling beside her. Slowly, he rose to his feet, and, like everyone else, he turned to Zaiper.

It was him.

Not the humans.

Not my son.

Him.