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Pushing to my feet, I grin, reaching down to grip his collar and haul him up.
“Then you’re as much of a fool as I think you are. And killing you is exactly what I’ll do.” I turn to his wife when she whimpers and then slaps a hand over her mouth. “If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll be back for you next. Understand?”
She nods frantically. I’d expect her eyes to be filled with tears, but they’re dry and wide. Even now, she can’t think about anyone but herself. Shaking my head, I shift away to the veil with Elora’s uncle in my grasp.
He stumbles when we arrive, bending over to retch his breakfast into the grass. When he rights himself, swiping a hand over his mouth to clear away the sick, his eyes narrow at our surroundings.
“Why not just kill me in my own house? At least then my wife could bury me.”
“You don’t deserve a proper burial.” I twist the knife in my fingers, grinning as he eyes it. “You deserve nothing except to find your place among others like you in Síra. And here you’ll be useful. For once.”
His hands clench into fists, and I chuckle at the gesture. I want to take my time and carve every mark I’ve mapped on Elora into his body. His screams would bring me such pleasure, but I promised her we’d spend some time in the training yard today.
When his muscles bunch and his body jerks, I reach out and grip him by the throat before he can lunge for me, lifting him off the ground until his feet dangle and kick.
“Did you think you’d take me by surprise?”
“I’m not afraid of you—”
“Or any god. Yes, I know. You can lie to yourself if you want. The end result is the same.”
“Since when do gods care so much about mortals and their pain?” he sputters, his lips beginning to turn blue.
“Since you marked what is mine.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but I’m faster, dropping him to his feet and drawing the blade across his throat before the words can pass his lips. He attempts to suck in a ragged breath, his hands going to his throat and coming away wet and dripping.
I grab him by the back of the neck before he can stumble away and shove him against the invisible barrier of the veil. He’s Elora’s blood relative on her father’s side. I’m hoping whatever healing power she has in her blood passes through her father’s line because her mother was an only child and has no living relatives.
He twitches against my hold, his blood seeming to float in mid-air as it slides down the veil and pools on the ground. There is no sudden sprouting of vines, no change to the veil or the surrounding landscape. He is as useless in death as he was in life.
Releasing him, I watch his lifeless body slump to the forest floor and huff out an annoyed breath. Killing him for touching Elora was satisfying, but he hardly solved my problem.
Either Elora’s power comes through her mother’s line, or my theory about being able to substitute a blood relative to heal the realm has been disproven. Either way, the Shadow Realm will continue to worsen until I can find another solution.
Because sacrificing Elora is not an option. And I will shed the blood of as many mortals as it takes to keep her by my side.
Leaving her uncle as a feast for the forest guardians, I shift back to my rooms and change my blood-spattered robes for fresh ones, cleaning the muck from my face and hands. As I reach up to adjust my collar, searing pain shoots down my arm from elbow to wrist, and I feel Elora’s heartbeat flutter in my chest.
In an instant, I’m by her side in the training yard. Her tunic is split down her forearm and stained red. Nevon is standing next to her, her arm cradled in his hands while he inspects the cut.
“What the fuck did you do?” I snarl, shoving him back a step and inspecting the wound.
It’s long and thin, a clean cut from a sharp blade. It likely won’t even scar, but I don’t like the fact that someone else has hurt her, marred her skin, even for a moment.
“Get out of my sight, Nevon.”
He takes another step back when I pin him with a dark look and quickly disappears.
“It’s not that serious,” Elora assures me, trying to tug her arm free. “No need to overreact.”
“He cut you.”
“You say that like he attacked me.” She again tries to draw her arm from my grasp. “It was an accident.”
“They were only sparring,” Railan says, appearing at my elbow. “She feinted left, and Nevon was faster.”
“I imagine he would be. Given he’s immortal and she’s just…”
