Page 32 of My Blood Is Yours

The apples of my cheeks rise from behind the curtain of my cloak. My answer requires no deliberation. The only person who existed in this world that truly mattered to me died a decade ago.

“I would love nothing more.”

SARIEL

The journey through the so-called underground railway tunnel proves harrowing. Rats the size of fat cats eye us warily as we dodge and hide in carved-out burrows to avoid being hit by snake-like metal beasts that fly by, leaving trails of cloying steam in their wake. I’ve never seen anything like it, though I have visited more technologically advanced realms. This place seems advanced in the most primitive and clunky way.

Ourinessa—a divine realm parallel yet entirely opposite to the one in which I was born, Vassileo—is a breathtaking place of floating cities, where technology harnesses the power of magic, seamlessly blending into the natural world. Everything about this place, Terrenea, seems to defy that harmony. From what little I have seen, it has proven to be grotesque indeed.

Each forward footstep to thisWhitechapelis a moment subtracted from the sum total of time we are forced to endure here. I am both enraged with and eternally grateful to this Evandriel. He helped Forsythe to imprison me, and yet he is also the reason we are freed. At least for the moment. And I don’t trust for a singular fucking second that he has done either of those things for any greater good outside of his own aims.

By the time we reach the exit from this Terrenean hell and I open the door to Whitechapel Rd., I’m gasping for air. Elowen is still waiting safely inside so I can ensure the cursed half-Serpahi male doesn’t plan on attempting to murder us the moment we arrive.

My eyes squint against the pale grey light of day as I step onto a cobblestoned alleyway, and I am, yet again, met with a cloying putrescence that invades my nostrils so thoroughly, I’m certain my nostrils have been singed.

Akash almighty, save us from this foul place.

I tug the hood of the cloak further over my head, having glamoured away my horns, wings, tail, and changed my skin to appear pale like Elowen’s. When I catch sight of my own hand, I see that it’s a dark brown.My glamouring abilities apparently need some work—I can’t even remember the last time I used them—but that’s close enough, right?Surely, something as trivial as some shades darker couldn’t possibly make a difference, could it?I wonder, patting my head to reassure myself my horns are, at least, no longer visible. A paper-soft crackling noise sounds behind me, making every muscle in my body go rigid. I turn to find Evandriel smoking a pipe, shoulder propped on a brick wall, blowing floral-scented plumes of smoke into the air.

“Took you long enough.”

My reply is a scowl that I imagine looks far less intimidating in this human glamour. Evandriel’s eyes twinkle with mirth and knowing, like we didn’t just narrowly escape some mad doctor’s hellish prison.

“Where’s Elowen?”

My hackles rise further at his casual use of mysoulbound’sname, even if he has apparently known her since she was in utero.

“Why are you helping us?”

It’s a question I already know the answer to, but I am compelled to ask it all the same.

Evandriel’s lips quirk with amusement as he exhales another billowing cloud from one corner of his mouth andwillsthemundrapedrainto the open palm of his hand. “You’re taking me with you.”

It was the answer I expected.

I’m half-tempted to ask about the magical spinning top, but now isn’t the time. Urgency tightens like a noose around my neck.

My jaw clenches in protest to our situation as I knock softly on the metal door beside me. Elowen peeks her head out, eyes widening and jaw dropping at the sudden change in my appearance. Still, she doesn’t hesitate to press herself against my side, where I protectively drape an arm over her. I glance down at her to find her eyes narrowed with distrust as she holds Evandriel’s gaze. I answer her question before she needs to ask it. “He wants to come with us.”

“Absolutely not.”

Evandriel’s demeanour remains nonplussed.

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

I growl at the fact. “I could just kill you and take back themundrapedra.”

Evandriel gives me a bored look. “You’d have to have access to myaetherto do that.”

Aetherbeing that place between time and space where we are able towillobjects to and fro. It appears that this male knows slightly more than I’d imagined about his magic, having, presumably, been born and raised in a human realm to a human parent.

Elowen’s glare is enough to make a male’s balls shrivel and invert. Still, Evandriel’s brows gradually inch further and further up his somehow suntanned forehead as her rant progresses.

“You’re Forsythe’s henchman. You kidnapped people so he could conduct his sick experiments. You stole unclaimed corpses from the morgue. You have no moral compass, and I will not condemn another world to the stain of your existence!”

Pride blossoms in my chest that she so openly speaks her mind to a male twice her size—even if he does have all of the leverage.

Evandriel’s head tips back with a deep laugh, revealing the thick column of his throat. The veins there thick, and despite his golden skin, I can still make out the faint blue of the blood that rushes within. Hunger twists in my gut. I haven’t eaten in nearly two days. It would take so very little effort to tear his throat out and feast.

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