Page 80 of Hell's Secret Omega

The izil seems to make a decision, gathering its legs underneath it, body tensing. It bolts. Ekko leaps into the air faster than should be possible for a creature of his size. But the gaps between trees are too narrow for his wingspan, and he hasn’t yet learned how to flush out prey to open ground. He slows with great sweeps of his wings, letting out a frustrated cry.

Mezor draws, eye on the injured animal. In his periphery, Cyrus turns away. He looses the arrow. The izil stumbles and collapses. Ekko dives through the trees and lands next to his prey, digging in quickly.

A flash ofblood-stench-paincomes through the bond—Cyrus’s emotion.

“Wait for me,” he tells his mate.

Cyrus nods tightly. But the feelings don’t fade as Mezor crosses the distance to the fallen izil—they build to a crescendo as he draws farther. A phantom flash of fingers at his neck distracts Mezor, and with a sick feeling he realizes the death has Cyrus reliving his challenge.

Ekko glares with his black eye as Mezor approaches. The rok’s ego is surely bruised—and he must worry that Mezor is here to take his kill away. Mezor holds his hands up.

“I need to retrieve my arrow.”

Ekko stops eating as he approaches and watches him warily. His beak and claws are stained reddish brown. In spite of his glare, a gleam of satisfaction also lights his eye. He allows Mezorto draw near. A rok doesn’t share his prey—but Mezor’s link to Cyrus must put him in a special category in Ekko’s mind. One he won’t take for granted.

Mezor kneels next to the izil and pulls his arrow from its breast, wiping off the tip. Around the izil’s fallen body glow patches of moss, their questing tendrils stretching toward the creature.

He prods the moss gently. The tendrils realign toward him, only to dismiss him when it becomes evident he’s alive. They’re decomposers, taking nutrients from carcasses and returning them to the earth. It’s been a long time since he’s seen them.

When he returns to Cyrus’s side, Cyrus is visibly relieved.

“Come here.” He sits on a fallen log and gestures Cyrus closer.

Cyrus steps between his legs, claws pricking Mezor’s thigh. He looks exhausted again, his eyes without their usual lustre, his shoulders drawn in. When Mezor cups his lower back gently he slumps with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Cyrus murmurs. “I know you’re the Hunter. It’s part of your life—and Ekko’s. But I can’t handle it.”

Mezor reaches into the hidden pouch inside his quiver where dried berries from the grotto are stored.

“Eat.” He lifts one to Cyrus’s lips.

Cyrus lets Mezor feed him. He chews slowly, and through the bond the flavour bursts over Mezor’s tongue at the same time as Cyrus tastes it.

Mezor’s chest tightens. There’s no experience to liken to a mating bond. Even before the cataclysm—when he was among his brothers, full of purpose and surrounded by the beauty of Hell—his happiness was fundamentally different from what he feels in this moment, with Cyrus in his arms.

He picks up another berry.

“You like this.” Cyrus’s eyes curve with amusement.

“I like servicing your needs,” he replies with honesty.

Cyrus shuts his eyes, a flicker of pain crossing his face. “I wish I could do the same.”

Mezor takes a deep, steadying breath. “You do. My needs are fulfilled, Cyrus.”

Cyrus gives him a sad smile and climbs into his lap. “Can we rest here? Just for a bit?”

He tightens his grip on his mate. “Of course.”

Chapter 45

CYRUS

Cyrus clingsto Mezor the closer they get to the King’s hideout. He’s determined to see their bond through—but more than that, he craves closeness every waking moment, a need so strong it hurts. It’s nothing to do with his vergis. It’s just plain heartache.

Mezor says nothing, letting Cyrus stay glued to his side. He’s indulgent, gentle, and somehow it makes Cyrus feel worse.

While they walk, Mezor tells Cyrus about Hell, painting a vivid image of how it used to be. Moody and beautiful, lit up from within, and full of quiet joys. When Cyrus lies down to sleep, he imagines it perfectly intact like that. And when he dreams, his dreams are of light running out in all directions across Hell like veins, bringing new life to the darkness.

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