Page 108 of Shadowlands Omega

He grins up at me and says, “I knew you were capable of taking a life when it truly counted. Thank you for saving us.” His eyes are fluttering. He needs medical attention. I can hear people approaching us, voices shouting orders. I know he’ll be okay. He’ll have to be. Because I didn’t do what I did to kill anybody. Only to save. Always to save him.

“Saving you,” I whisper. I lean down and kiss him gently, tasting the venom on his silver-coated mouth. “Besides, it’s not taking a life if they’re already dead.”

32 | Yaron

Shadow Keep

I repeat the same message to the scribe for the hundredth time since the attack eight days ago.My irritation must show, because the scribe responsible for sending messages to the other cities — in duplicate, because I do not trust anything anymore and cannot ensure their reliability — scribbles faster.

“Owenna, sister to the Shadow Lady, stabbed Sy, the Fate of Mind and Madness, but I know the Beast Fate, Omora, capable of healing her. Merlin, who ran Trash City, will not be so fortunate. My axe embedded deep in her chest, all but halving her.”

“Was the body recovered, my Lord?”

“What?” I all but snarl, irritation flaring. It’s been eight days since the battle, and six days since I’ve seen my Omega. They are keeping her from me because my rut is flaring and her heat is still dormant. I still have fucking heat stroke, according to Okayo, and in my attempt to honor herdespitehaving already bonded her, it’s been suggested that I wait to bed her until after the Red Moon Festival — tomorrow. One. More. Day.

I might have ignored their wishes were I not also injured. Kiandah is also still recovering, even as she tends to her sister, Owenna, who only just woke up this morning. Weak and suffering from severe migraines, it appears that Sy did a number on her. She’s had Sipho very willing and content to keep her company, though. It is, apparently, because of her that he survived his imprisonment by the Fates at all.

Operating as a true black cloak and in the most clandestine fashion, she managed to keep him fed and tended his wounds without the Fates’ or Trash City’s detection. There were chances for her to escape, but she stayed and continued to pretend to work with Trash City and ally herself with the Fates once again because of him.

“My…uhm…Lord?” the squeaky male asks.

I glare at him and snarl, “You mean the undead Berserker or Merlin?”

“Horace, Finn and Okayo have preserved the undead Berserker for study. I was speaking of Merlin, my Lord?”

“Picked apart by crows, undoubtedly. Nothing but blood and intestines left. My axe was undoubtedly also stolen, but that is irrelevant. The threat of Trash City has been neutralized, though I still want it communicated that Trash City allies are enemies of the Shadowlands and any found to be aiding or abetting any of Merlin’s former partners should be imprisoned or killed. Killed is probably most effective.” I reach across the thick slab of my desk and stab my finger down on his paper, making him jump. “Write killed.”

He nods, scribbling fiercely.

“And burned.”

He scribbles some more, then says, “And so the Fates did manage to escape?”

I hate his tone and glare hard enough that I will him to explode into blue flame. I, unfortunately — or perhaps, fortunately — lack the self-control and desire to preserve life that my Lady has. Also, the skills to make that blue flame happen. Reluctantly, I consider that Kiandah may be better equipped to manage such an extraordinary gift.

I sigh quite abruptly, startling the male, though he seems to exist in a perpetual state of surprise around me, as I think to myself…My female is extraordinary.

“The uh…Fates, my Lord?”

“Yes, they managed to escape,” I grunt. “Three only. The fourth…the Fate of Death, Noon Dragnovic, did not survive. She died, but by her own will. We had ships comb the beaches and shallow waters of Zaoul, but no bodies were found. My Omega says that she used her own chains of captivity to weigh herself down.” Berserker Dragnovic will not be pleased that his sister took her own life. I feel a brief sorrow grip me that I could not save her, either. Though I’m not sure…would I have, if given the chance? With one touch, Noon had the ability to kill everything I hold dear to me.

“Zaoul is not a kind master.” The man mutters, sticking his tongue out of the side of his mouth in a way Kiandah does when she’s thinking very hard while simultaneously stirring or chopping or otherwise making whatever food concoction she’s dreaming up. I watch her in the kitchens sometimes, though I’m not supposed to. I like stalking her very much, seeing the way she is with people when she doesn’t know I’m there, watching her.

“No, he is not.”

“Was it ever determined how so many undead made it onto our shores, my Lord?”

I grit my teeth, feeling appropriately foolish. “The ports.”

“By ship, my Lord?”

“No.”

“Then how?”

“The answer was always right in front of my eyes, young scribe. They were undead.” Slouching into my seat, I lean forward onto my elbows and roughly rub my face. I’ve already removed my cloak and unbuttoned the buttons of my tunic as well as the ties to my pants. I am itchy and uncomfortable, hot periodically and overwhelmed by waves of desire that I am not to act on until tomorrow when I can take Kiandah beneath the red moon’s fiery light. I want to do this. I want to honor her. I have to tell myself this again and again so that, through sheer repetition, I may believe the lie. Because the truth is that I want to tear my castle down stone by stone until I find her and then fuck her mercilessly among the rubble.

“What…do you mean, my Lord?”

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