Page 82 of Hell's Secret Omega

Like Ekko, Cyrus isn’t convinced.

“We have to go down there?”

“The entrance is there.” Mezor points at the far side of the canyon. It’s hidden by the hollows, but a shiver passes through Cyrus anyway.

He turns back. “Then it’s time.”

Mezor looks between him and Ekko. “I’ll give you space.”

Cyrus wishes he’d stay. But he’s right—this goodbye should be private. As Mezor steps away he draws closer to Ekko, taking comfort in his clear-eyed gaze and the way his crest has been ruffled by the wind. His friend no longer looks sickly, but sleek and fed.

Ekko butts his shoulder with his massive beak, as if sensing Cyrus’s distress.

“You’re free now,” Cyrus tells him, stroking his crown. His heart aches, but it’s a good ache. “I want you to soar on the updrafts and forget your life in the cage. Go anywhere. Do anything. Even find your own mate and make a family. Don’t you dare follow me, okay?”

“Crah!” Ekko cries, tossing his head.

“I mean it. You’re wild, Ekko—you need others like you.” Cyrus smiles through the stone in his throat. “We both have to find our own path.”

The look of disdain in Ekko’s eye tells Cyrus what he thinks of that. But it’s the truth. He refuses to drag Ekko wherever his journey takes him next to spend his life watching over a silly demon who can’t stop getting into trouble.

“Go on,” Cyrus tells him, stepping back. “Fly free.”

Another cry bursts from Ekko’s beak. His wings erupt outward. With powerful strokes, he takes off into the dark skies. Cyrus watches him go, his heart conflicted.

Mezor’s hand lands on his shoulder. “He’s a clever bird. He’ll have no trouble.”

“I know.” He sighs and pushes his face into Mezor’s chest, taking a moment of comfort in his scent. “I wish I was sure he understood.”

“You have a special bond with him. He understands a lot when it comes from you.”

“Had,” Cyrus manages, turning away. “Ihada special bond with him.”

Chapter 46

MEZOR

Inside the hideouttorches are lit, a sign the King already knows of their arrival. The sound of dripping water tickles his ears. Cyrus radiates tension beside him. He’s put several paces between them, but it won’t fool the King one iota. He’ll know they’re mated instantly.

Mezor leads Cyrus to the inner chamber, empty still. Anticipation licks up his spine.

In the middle of the room is a table, and on it a map. The board is laid with pieces. From each piece emerges a glowing line, all converging on the bowl in the centre of the map that represents Mount Hythe. Black water fills the bowl, gleaming like a mirror. As he crosses the room, a drop lands on the glassy surface and spatters excess over the map.

He sets his bow and quiver on the table. Then he picks up the last piece and places it on the map.

The surface of the water shivers.

“At last.”

Cyrus jumps. The King steps out of the shadows, long red cape covering him from the neck down. He looks unwell, cheeks sunken and long hair unkempt. His scent is powerfully abrasive even to Mezor’s nose. He’s changed in other ways, too. He’staller, with dark veins spiderwebbing across his face. Black horns sprout from his crown, making a thorny circle.

Mezor bows, uneasy. “It’s done.”

The King dips one clawed finger into the bowl of water and brings it to his lips. Stomach turning, Mezor realizes what it is.

The King lifts the bowl to his mouth. He tips it back and his throat works as he swallows the contents.

“That’s water from the Hellspring,” Cyrus hisses, grabbing Mezor’s elbow.

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