Page 78 of Hell's Secret Omega

Cyrus takes the arrow and runs his thumb across the point. It’s sharp as any blade, catching on his thumbprint. He lifts his other hand and slices through the palm quickly, before he can think better of it.

“No,” Mezor growls, reaching for his wrist, but he’s too late. Ichor drips down Cyrus’s palm and lands on the earth.

Cyrus takes Mezor’s hand next and swipes the arrowhead over his palm, too. Bright red blood wells up eagerly. He dips his finger into it and brings it to his lips.

It tastes of iron, of ozone.

Mezor’s blood mingles with his ichor in the dirt. The air suddenly turns oppressive. Mezor’s scent rises hotly—or maybe it’s a storm. Under his knees the earth trembles faintly. Mezor’s bloody hand grabs his shoulder.

“We must get down now.”

The hill sloughs big chunks of shale as Cyrus scrambles down the slope, Mezor behind him. They reach the bottom and the rumbling stops. Cyrus turns in time to see a sapling of pure light shoot up from the hill. He grabs for Mezor’s hand without looking.

“It’s eager to catch up to the others,” Mezor says. “Come—you need rest.”

“It’s already so huge.”

“My power hasn’t waned like my brothers. And you gave it your essence—your soul is strong.” He squeezes Cyrus’s hand and the small wound throbs.

He lets Mezor lead him away from the hill. When Mezor settles beneath one of the half dead trees Cyrus collapses into him gratefully.

He falls asleep, feeling nothing, dreaming of nothing, drifting in the pure gentle river of the bond.

When he wakes, Hell is filled with light.

Cyrus sits up. The forest glows with light cast from the world tree. Shining threads run down the hill and disappear into the pit. Next to him Mezor’s eyes are shut, and something feels different through the bond—it’s dampened. Like Mezor isn’t fully present.

Like he’s asleep.

Cyrus’s heart beats fast. He eases himself out of Mezor’s grip with care.Filling the cracks of our souls. If only they had more time together.

He climbs the hill, drawn to the world tree’s light. Its trunk is as thick as his torso now—it must stand thirty feet high. Broad branches sway in an intangible wind and new leaves unfurl before his eyes. A scent like a storm rising fills the air.

He lets his fingers trail over the smooth bark. Under his touch, brilliant red light swirls as if drawn to him.Mezor’s power—his soul, greeting my soul.He shivers.

The branch above him trembles as Ekko lands silently. His watchful presence comforts Cyrus.

The golden roots leading to Mount Hythe illuminate his path. Beyond that, he can’t see what the future holds.

Mezor jerks when Cyrus nestles back into the crook of his arm, and the bond sparks with awareness. He stirs, his eyes opening. “Hmm?”

“It’s just me.” Cyrus curls into him.

Mezor pulls him closer. His heartbeat is slow and soothing. The light of the world tree dances over Mezor’s bare chest. Cyrus plays with the trail of dark hair leading down from Mezor’s belly, stroking it one way and then the other. Mezor’s breathing deepens, and Cyrus lets the rhythm of it lull him back to sleep.

Chapter 44

MEZOR

The fastest wayto the King’s hideout is straight across the pit. Mezor is selfish. He takes Cyrus the long way—through the wilds.

He feels like a fool for bringing Cyrus straight into the King’s den. With the world seeds planted, Branok is in a tenuous place—he holds all the cards, but he has the most to lose. To him, Mezor’s bond will be nothing but a liability. Yet Mezor can’t hide Cyrus away from the King out of fear.

Cyrus deserves every reward for his service. Ensuring he gets it will be Mezor’s last act.

“You know a lot about the King,” Cyrus says on the second day of travel.

“Branok doesn’t confide in anyone,” Mezor replies. “I only know what I’ve gleaned, and after a hundred years, that’s not much. But some things are better left a mystery.”

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