Page 48 of On Broken Bonds

“I hardly think you’re one to talk,” I mutter.

He stiffens. “You’re implying I’m beautiful?”

“Well, you’re a demi-god. Surely you already know you possess… unearthly beauty.”

He grins.

Then, because I’ve just called him beautiful, I add, “And I hardly think you’re one to lecture a woman on the value of her beauty.”

“Fair,” he says, with a slightly amused sigh.

As he makes his way to the door, I realize that, more than anything, I want him at my side. Near me, at least, before what is surely going to be the most difficult day of my life. Although such a thing would be improper for me to suggest.

Now, if he suggested it?

“Good night, Nyx,” Thorian says, his deep voice rumbling through my nerves. He lingers at the door, his gaze sweeping up and down my form before finding my face again. It’s as though I feel the physical touch of him looking, along the bridge of my nose, over my jaw, fluttering across my cheekbones.

“And, for what it’s worth,” he says, pulling his gaze from mine forcibly, “you absolutely possess the kind of beauty men fall over themselves for.”

With that, he closes the door, and I’m left with nothing but the faint, wanting throb between my legs and the sound of his footsteps trailing away down the hallway.

15

Nyx

The forest seems endless.

Standing at the edge of the cliff beside Thorian and the other competitors, I stare out over a sea of treetops stretching to the horizon. The canopy rises and falls in great waves of green, orange, and crimson. Vines drape between branches. Strange flowers bloom in impossible bursts of color. In places, mist hangs above the trees, obscuring whatever lies beneath.

Beyond that vast wilderness lie the Trials. Monsters. Traps. Competitors willing to kill me.

The realization crashes into me with startling force.

Until now, a part of me has managed to pretend this wasn't real. Training with Thorian felt real enough. Standing before the gods felt real. Being chased through the garden by a murderous flower definitely felt real. But all of those things happened inside the safety of civilization. Inside walls. Near healers. Near people.

This is different. In a few minutes, we'll be sent into that forest. And some of us won't come back out.

My stomach twists.

I can practically feel the weight of the dagger at my hip, the absurdity of it. It should calm me a little, the fact that the other competitors had all their weapons removed. The gods had laughed and let me keep mine, but it does little to comfort me. Days ago, I barely knew how to hold a weapon. Now I'm expected to compete against vampires, berserkers, shifters, warlocks, and warriors who've spent their entire lives preparing for violence.

For one terrible moment, I can't breathe. What am I doing here? The question pounds through me.

Then another image rises in my mind. Lyra.

Not the version carried away by the vampires, but the one from before. Curled up beside me in bed during a storm. Laughing as we stole pastries from the kitchen. Sitting in the garden with dirt on her nose after planting flowers she swore she would remember to water.

My sister. The reason I'm here. Slowly, the panic loosens its grip.

I don't have to be stronger than everyone else. I don't have to be the best fighter. I just have to survive. I’m good at surviving.

The major gods stand before us, looking half bored and half eager. A soft wind stirs Soryn and Aqualis's skirts and tugs at Eryndor's shirt. The festivities are over now. The parties, the feasts, the betting.

This is the part they've been waiting for.

“Once again, we approach the start of the Trials,” Valtor says.

The god stands at the very edge of the cliff, his heels practically hanging over empty air. He wears loose leather trousers and no shirt, his enormous frame bathed in the morning sunlight. Gold glitters from the braids woven through his beard and catches on the bracelets wrapped around his wrists.