Page 125 of Dark Fate

Azrael's boot collides with my jaw in a nauseating, bone-shattering crunch, an explosion of white-hot agony radiating through my face as he viciously grinds his heel into my battered flesh. "Know your place, you miserable, crawling maggot," he snarls, his voice as frigid and unforgiving as the icy kiss of a steel blade pressed against my vertebrae, its razor-sharp edge slicing through the fabric of my clothing to bite hungrily into my skin.

Adriansteps forward, carrying that smug 'I-got-secrets' look. My pulse hammers a warning, andAdrian's gaze is full of shit I don't want to see—like apologies, he doesn’t mean that feels like a slap.

Azrael, the sadistic puppet master orchestrating this hellish circus, delivers the coup de grâce with a twisted flourish. "I must extend my gratitude, dear Viking, for so graciously providing the perfect bait. Your preciousDaniwill come sprinting straight into my waiting embrace like a moth to a flame," he purrs, his voice dripping with perverse anticipation. "And oh, the delightful surprises I have in store for her when she arrives."

I sneer at Azrael, my lip curling in defiance even as the shadows hold me fast. "The hell you playing at?" I spit, glaring up at him as he leans over me, all cocky and self-assured, the shadows he's whipped up swirling around him like a living cloak.

"There's someone positively writhing in anticipation of being reunited with you," Azrael hisses, his eyes smoldering with pure, unadulterated malevolence. A vicious, warped smile contorts his features into a nightmarish visage of sadistic glee.

I can barely follow his gloating as the shadows yank me through the abyss, their icy tendrils wrapping around me like a vice, dragging me into the heart of darkness. Zipping through the shadows is a goddamn gut-twister—my stomach churning, the pitch-black void pressing in on me from all sides, an aroma of sulfur thick enough to taste coating the back of my throat.

We slam to a halt, and I'm dumped unceremoniously on the ground. My body hits the unforgiving stone with a bone-jarring thud. I hurl up nothing but blood, the coppery taste mingling with the lingering sulfuric stench, courtesy of that hellish ride we just blasted through.

His shadows yank me up like they're Azrael's own damn hands, their grip bruising, and I find myself staring at a nightmare I never wanted a replay of. Amara's perched on her throne, her eyes cold as the ice queen she is, and she loves every moment of my humiliation, drinking in my pain like it’s the finest vintage.

Azrael struts his victory, convinced thatDaniis coming for me and that he has the perfect bait to lure her into his trap.

Amara throws me a frosty look, and her voice drips with mock warmth, a sickly sweet poison that coats every word. "My pet, what a treat it is to have you back. You're like a walking, talking riot wherever you go." Her words slice through the chilly air as she lords over me from that nightmare of a throne that seems carved out of terror, a monument to her cruelty.

"Yeah, a real fucking pleasure to see you too," I sneer back at Amara, my words dripping with sarcasm.

Azrael barks out an arrogant laugh."Oh, he's the ideal little maggot to dangle on the end of our line," he remarks with a smug, self-satisfied smirk. Laying it all out there, no bullshit. "Our dear, heroic savior won’t be able to resist rushing to his rescue. And when she takes the bait, we'll be primed and ready to spring the trap."

Amara gives me a look that could freeze hell over, her eyes boring into mine with a malevolent intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. "Oh, pet. Such secrets. Have you forgotten all about my lovely lessons?"

Danica

58

As I step into the massive room, I feel like I've walked onto the set of Gods Gone Wild. The jaw-dropping glitz makes the Sun Court look like child's play. The celestial decorators really went all out here—it’s part renegade architect's magnum opus, part cosmic exhibit. Every glint and glimmer here hollers "opulence" loud enough to make the most pampered royals blush.

Seraphina's hand is a lifeline as we wade through this tsunami of splendor. Crystals compete for attention with their prismatic tango, lighting up every inch of the place. You know the ones I’m talking about—they’re not content, just being fabulous. They're throwing a full-on luminescent rave.

Under our feet, the marble gleams with a polish so fierce it's nearly blinding. Heck, I half-expect to find cherubs detailing the corners. Look up, and the ceiling dissolves into stars, which brings about a minor existential crisis—am I inside or somehow space-walking?

"This is just—" The words die on my tongue as my gaze snags on another ethereal presence—a male. He is breathtaking, with chestnut locks cascading to his shoulders and eyes so luminous they could be forged from molten gold. He commands attention at the chamber's far end, an object cradled in his grasp. Towering, sculpted, the very essence of divinity, his wings are pristine, the hue of freshly fallen snow.

Seraphina nudges me on, her voice a cocktail of pride and a pep talk. "Come, Dani, meet Jophiel," she encourages, nudging me from trepidation to determination.

I shuffle forward, my feet barely obeying me. Jophiel has this vibe that's half 'wisdom of everything' and half 'cool uncle who knows all the best jokes.' His good looks are timeless. His aura is less intimidating and more friendly than I expected.

"Dani," he rings out the word—it's epic yet somehow tinged with 'let's grab a coffee.'

Jophiel awaits, his expression all anticipation as I navigate forward, wading into the sun-strobe display of light and warmth.

"I trust Seraphina has already informed you of the pressing reason for your unceremonious arrival. We had to step in lest your beloved—your 'mate,' if that's the term you prefer—commit an act so astoundingly foolish we feared the worst."

At the mention of Rhyland, defensiveness spikes within me, and I am ready to defend my vampire against an onslaught of sanctimony. They may hold dominion over the realm of light, but I will not let him disparage the man who lives in the shadow of my heart.

"He did what was necessary. He felt he had no other option," I defend him fiercely.

"Your love tethers you to darkness. It is a dangerous bond," Jophiel warns, his words a celestial breeze that could snuff out stars.

"Then consider it tethered," I counter, the bite in my response undiluted, a symphony of conviction for Rhyland's worth.

The tension between us crackles like static in the air—a celestial being grappling with a mortal choice.

"Then you must seek the means to make sure you have completed the Soul-Tie," Jophiel drops the reference casually, as though I'm already well-versed in the subject matter.

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