Page 3 of Cursed Shadows 3

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The iilra who died in the rush of shadows have been replaced. Quickly. Too quickly, almost as though reinforcements were at the borders of this neutral land, waiting.

Suspicion would narrow my eyes on them down in the courtyard, but I find I have such little energy to do much more than watch. So I watch them, and have done since I ran out of the offices and made for the tower just a half-hour ago.

The iilra don’t do anything out of the ordinary—if forming an ateralum-gated barrier around a spiral of Cursed Shadows that surges from the centre of the dead portal up into the dark skies is an ordinary thing.

My lashes lower on the courtyard until there is only the darkness of my eyelids.

I draw in a deep breath.

I sense him—smellhim—the moment he steps through the archway, onto the roof of the tower.

That familiar blend of leather, polished metal, and earth, peppered with the faintest hint of almond soap and the blood he’s freshly spilled.

Daxeel’s scent snakes around me, each layer a compliment to the next.

Memories flitter through my mind, how I once welcomed the fragrance of my dark one.

Now, I feel a rush that reminds me of falling, an ache that spreads through my chest.

Despair.

I say nothing as he advances on me.

I keep my back to him.

Since he does little to silence his soft bootsteps, I decide he wants me to know he’s come to me. His chest presses to my spine, the warmth of his mouth brushes over my jawline, down the smooth skin of my neck.

I stay in darkness

My eyes keep shut, relaxed on the sensations he torments me with. I don’t tug away or hit out at him as his arm comes around my middle. Fleetingly, I wonder if he means to stop me from taking a step off the edge of the tower and plummeting to my death.

Sometimes, I might like to fall.

I almost melt into him. Instinct of the old love we shared aches to bond us together again.

But I fight the urge.

I open my eyes and stare ahead at the pulsating spiral of darkness.

Daxeel watches them, too.

Heartbeats pass in silence.

“The Cursed Shadows,” he murmurs against my neck, “is darkness we can control.” The fullness of his mouth tickles my skin. He grazes the tenderest kiss up to the shell of my ear. “Darkness that can swallow lands, even those under the guardianship of the sun.”

It takes a moment, a few breaths to pass before his words sink in. Realization stiffens me in his loving embrace. My back tenses against his chest.

I feel his lips against my ear as they warp into a grin.

“For now,” he says, and his voice is a murmur still, so soft and so tender, like he’s worshipping me, telling me all the ways he loves me, “the Cursed Shadows are contained to my body. I am the conduit between the spiral and space.” He pauses to nip the lobe of my ear. I don’t flinch. “Then, when I triumph in the second passage, I will have succeeded where previous generations failed. I will have won the Sacrament.”

And then what?

It’s the question I should ask. It’s the question that flitters through my mind like a petal on winds.

But it doesn’t stick around.

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