Page 111 of The Princesses of Ruin
He murmurs in my mind just like Alyse can, but only when I allow him in.Invitehim. This creature of ancient shadow and flameis far more powerful than we could’ve imagined. Fighting was never going to be a winning option. Zephrom sent us because she knew I would make a deal with the beast. She knew everything, all along.
The fucking cunt.
When Alastair is strapped securely, we bring him inside. There’s a craft room off the main foyer with a table large enough, so I direct the soldiers there. Duskaryn follows into the room, looming in the corner.
“Everyone out,” I snap at the Spiders.
Emillia lingers in the corner with her puppies on each hip. It pains me, but I nod for her to leave, too. She dips her head and closes the door behind her.
I glare at Duskaryn. “Fix him.”
He prowls around Alastair, knocking spools of thread off tables and tipping chairs as he goes. “He will survive as he is.”
“No! He needs tolive.We can’t do that if he doesn’t have an arm. If he doesn’t ever wake up.” My throat tightens. “You did this, nowfix it!”
The duskwalker crowds me against the wall in a flash. His bony maw presses against my cheek and a shiver of revulsion moves through me. I suppress a whimper as I cradle my stomach.
“You do not command me,” he says in a deep, sinister growl.
“I can still end my life,” I say, my voice quiet.
Duskaryn’s claws dig into my hips as he covers my hands with his. “You. Wouldn’t.Dare.”
A wave of sickness spikes through me at the thought of betraying our deal. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I would have to ask someone else…
“Fix him,” I snarl. “And you won’t have to find out what I’m capable of.”
Duskaryn’s glowing eyes burn into me as he slides his maw along my cheek. The sharp drag of his fang across my flesh reminds me that he is a demon of greater strength, magic, and years than I could ever hope to fight against. My single saving grace is right here, under his hand and mine.
But I need Alastair if she’s going to have a fighting chance against Duskaryn. I need my husband to train her in all the ways I can’t. I need him to teach her the strength I don’t have, so when it comes time for her to fight the duskwalker, she can win.
He knows it, too. But he also promised Alastair would live.
The green, gold, and red brand of thorns flares to life on his massive black wrist as if to remind him.
Duskaryn growls in submission and pulls away. He turns to Alastair and roughly begins undressing him. I look at my husband for the first time with eyes that aren’t actively roaming away from his damaged form.
Tears gather on my bottom lids and I hold back a sob as the duskwalker reveals more and more of him, all battered, all damaged. My gaze finally settles on his right shoulder, which ends in a shattered bone and a bloody nub.
“Fix him,” tumbles from my lips as the tears escape my grasp. They roll down my face and patter against my cradling hand.
Duskaryn digs his claws into the table. He draws runes I’ve never seen before that come alive with his golden magic. Strings of power zip from the table and wrap Alastair like a harness, then burrow into his skin. The scars his mother carved in him activate, shimmering pearly purple.
His mother’s magic. It’s been alive in him for so long.
It drifts off his body like an ephemeral vision of him, creating a shadow Alastair that hovers in the air over his real body.
Duskaryn slashes the first rune with his claws, cutting Alastair’s skin with a wicked swipe. I cry out, reaching for him, but I know the duskwalker is doing what he promised.
The rune explodes on the shadowed version, and it transforms his arm into that of the scaled demon. Alastair’s right arm stub pulses with red light. Bones jut forth with violent snaps. Muscles wrap them tightly. Purpled blood flows over the sinew and solidifies into midnight skin. Scales as hard as iron ripple to the surface.
Duskaryn slashes another one of the runes. Alastair jolts on the table, spitting blood. I suck down a deep gasp as another sob wracks me. The skin on his leg morphs until it’s encased in scales. Another patch grows over the gaping hole in his stomach.
Finally, the magic restraining Alastair fades, receding into the duskwalker. He turns to me, his gold eyes dimmer than they were before. Perhaps he’s weak…
Weak enough for me to kill—
Nausea punches me in the gut, and I spill forward, vomiting.
