Page 55 of The Immortal Covenant

Malorg had left themeeting today barely able to contain his rage. Rage at Pelorak for his incessant scheming and for forcing him to become an unwilling participant. At Sarilian for his single-minded commitment to the Covenant that had left him vulnerable to such a ploy. At all the Immortals, past and present, that had created and fostered this divide between Infernals and Celestials in the first place.

But most of all, he was furious at himself for not immediately putting a stop to this farce.

He’d intended to tell Sarilian the truth despite Pelorak’s warnings right up until the moment the Celestial delegation arrived. One look at Sarilian’s hopeful face, however, had dispelled that notion.

How could he so utterly destroy Sarilian’s faith in peace? Because Pelorak was right—if word of this betrayal got out, it would be generations before any Celestial trusted an Infernal again. Tensions would skyrocket. And Sarilian…

Fear had gripped Malorg, darker and more pervasive than any Dusklands shadow, at the thought of what Pelorak might do to Sarilian if Malorg stepped out of line. Perhaps the Aspect’s threats had been little more than bluster. If Pelorak’s reach extended to the Dawnlands, he wouldn’t need this risky scheme. But even the best warriors could fall fighting voidspawn, and it would be all too easy to fake an accident along the outskirts.

It was safer to maintain Pelorak’s charade. After all, it might take decades, evencenturies,before the Celestials caught on, and by then, there’d be no way to trace the origin back to its source. This current attempt at reforging the Covenant would fail, but at least Celestial-Infernal relationships wouldn’t sour in the short-term any more than they already had. Sarilian would keep his hope and, most importantly, escape unscathed.

For that, Malorg would gladly sacrifice what little remained of his honor and soul.

Or so he’d told himself. But maintaining his composure had proven more difficult than he expected. When faced with Sarilian and the other delegates, it had taken all his willpower to avoid spilling the truth or outright fleeing the room. That indecision had made him obstinate, leading to that disaster of a session. The instant it was over, he’d retreated to his quarters to brood in private.

Word of the debacle had probably already filtered back to Pelorak. Malorg needed to get a grip before the next meeting unless he wanted to provoke the Aspect of Ambition’s wrath and make all his subterfuge for naught.

When a knock came at his door some hours later, he’d assumed it was his former friend, coming to spout new threats and ensure he stayed in line. He knew he should answer and get the confrontation over with, but he couldn’t bring himself to rise.

When the insistent knocks continued, he’d given in and stormed over. It was only as he’d opened the door that he’d realized in all his recent visits Pelorak had never once bothered to knock. He’d had a split second to react, his pulse quickening, before he found Sarilian standing on his doorstep, cloaked by the fading remnants of some Celestial spell.

Even now, lost in the heat of Sarilian’s seeking mouth, clutching hands, and writhing body, Malorg could scarcely believethiswas where they’d ended up. He’d tried to resist—to send Sarilian away again for his own good.

But this time, Sarilian had refused to go. Warmth melted through him as he recalled the determination on Sarilian’s face and the resolved set to his shoulders as he’d stared Malorg down.

A part of me wanted to take your hand and leap through that rift with you, regardless of the consequences. A part of me still does.

So, here they were, taking a different sort of leap into the unknown.

Sarilian’s hands mapped the cool expanse of Malorg’s back while Malorg traced the delicate ridge of Sarilian’s collarbone with his lips. The sight of Sarilian’s duskflame necklace brought Malorg up short. He blinked, swallowing down sudden emotion. After all this time, after everything that had happened between them, Sarilian had never stopped wearing it.

As Malorg skimmed his fingers down the hardened planes of Sarilian’s stomach, then lower still to follow the soft trail of hair there, he tried to forget the other concerns and dangers pressing in on them. Here, now, there were just the two of them in this room. And that was enough—morethan enough.

He groaned at the pleasurable heat of Sarilian’s hands and mouth, so stark and bright compared to the frigid coolness of his usual world. The Dusklands might be beautiful, alive in itsown way with shifting patterns, but nothing he’d seen in his long centuries of life could compare to the rapture of Sarilian’s bronzed face tensed with ecstasy, his eyes rich golden pools of love and lust that Malorg wished to drown in forever.

Covenant or not, he would gladly watch the rest of existence succumb to the Void if that was the price he had to pay to keep Sarilian here in his arms.

But of course, nothing lasted forever, and as they both caught their breath, Sarilian resting his head in the crook of Malorg’s neck, harsh reality reasserted itself. Simply being here put Sarilian in grave peril. And though Malorg might be willing to sacrifice the world for him in a heartbeat, he wouldneverrisk Sarilian himself.

He’d done his best to suppress Pelorak’s nascent curse the instant the Celestial appeared on his doorstep, sneaking the magic in alongside a darkvision enchantment. But while the protection should last until Sarilian returned to the Dawnlands, that offered no guarantee they were safe.

Something of his creeping tension must have translated to Sarilian because the Celestial shifted, lifting his head to eye him. “Don’t start. No regrets.” He linked his fingers with Malorg’s and raised their joined hands. “Whatever else happens, we’ll find a way to keepthis. Because I meant what I said. I’m not walking away from you again.”

Sudden self-loathing gripped Malorg, tying his stomach in sickening knots. What was he doing, sitting here relaxing with Sarilian mere hours after helping to betray him and his people? Forget walking—Sarilian shouldrunaway, this time for good.

“Malorg? What’s wrong?”

Sarilian’s worried face loomed over him, his chiseled brow knit together.

Malorg squeezed his eyes shut. “You need to leave.”

Sarilian’s grip on his hand tightened. “I thought we’d covered this. No regrets, remember?”

“I have none. These past few hours have been the best of my existence. Every moment I spend with you is.” The honest words hung between them, and he cracked open his eyes to see Sarilian staring at him with wide-eyed wonder. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he continued. “I care about you more than life itself. And that’s why you need to go.”

A frown split Sarilian’s face. He shuffled to extricate himself from Malorg, sitting up beside him. Malorg instantly missed his warmth. “You mean return to the Dawnlands? I suppose you’re right—I don’t want Darius or the others to worry about my absence. But perhaps I can visit you again before our next meeting. I still remember our old spot—”

“You don’t understand!” Frustration roiled through Malorg. “You need to go…and not come back. Tell the Dawn Council you withdraw as emissary. Remain in the Dawnlands, where you belong.”

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