Page 41 of A Queen Of Broken Realms
“It’s going to be a long day and we need to get going.” The amount of amusement in his voice is frankly obscene, and the fucker has the audacity to laugh when he whips the sheets off before I can cocoon myself in them. I curl into a mewling, naked ball as I feel his weight shift off the bed. “Let’s go, vampire. We don’t have much time.”
I draw all the pillows over me as Ashen pads away to a set of French doors that lead to a garden, opening them wide to let Urtur bound away into the underworld. There are dresser drawers that slide open and shut, the rustling of clothes shifting over skin, the near silence of buttons threading through holes. A moment later, the bed dips again and Ashen’s there with all his Reaper strength and demonic persistence, wrenching the pillows out of my grasp one by one.
“You are a sadist,” I snarl as I curl my legs around the last pillow in a futile effort to hang on.
“And you are a stubborn creature,” Ashen says as he jams his fingers into my ticklish ribs, forcing me to loosen my grip just enough that he can rip the pillow away from me. I hiss and chomp at the air with my fangs, narrowly missing his fingers. “Afeisty, stubborn creature. Come on, the corridor in Bran is quite a drive from Valentina’s and it might take some time to wrangle the hybrids once we get there. Full day ahead.”
Ashen climbs off the bed as I let out a long, weary sigh of defeat. “Fine. But your chipper attitude this early in the morning is annoying as fuck.”
The Reaper tosses me a dark smile over his shoulder as he strides toward the door, a bag in hand. He’s enjoying this way too much. “I will be in the kitchen. Clothes are on the bed.”
Ashen’s footsteps drift away down the hall and I squish my sleepy, sore eyes with the heels of my palms, letting out an inelegant yawn. At the foot of the bed is a folded pair of jeans and a white button-up shirt, a set of cream lace underwear next to it. A beautiful, camel-colored cashmere coat is draped across the edge of the mattress. I slide to the end of the bed and run my fingers along the soft hem of the jacket, wondering how Ashen ever found time to get all these clothes in colors he knew I’d like, especially when I’ve only ever seen Reapers in dark shades. Chipper morning attitude aside, he’s doting and sweet and thoughtful, and I get dressed without another grumble, eager to get to the kitchen.
When I arrive, Ashen has already started brewing the coffee, pitchers of cream and blood and two black thermal mugs waiting on the counter. He finishes his butter-lathered toast as it brews, and before long we’re making our respective drinks and heading out the door toward House Ushzu, which he says is the nearest building with a portal to Bran.
“You seem nervous,” Ashen says, his voice echoing through the vaulted foyer of House Ushzu, the unfamiliar black stone shimmering with veins of a mysterious blue crystal that climb the columns lining the vestibule like vines.
“I am. I’m nervous about Imani and Cyrus looking after the place while we’re gone. I’m nervous the hybrids will try to chomp on you. I’m nervous the werewolves will want a round three throw-down, or that the Nephilim will find a way in while we’re gone,” I say as we approach the third cauldron in a row of seven, the only one not shut with a heavy lid. “And I’m still not super into these Fire Corridors of Terror either.”
Ashen squeezes my hand as he takes a torch from one of the guards and throws it into the cauldron, lighting the black stones. A shiver of dread slithers down my spine, even knowing it won’t hurt. “Imani and Cyrus will be fine. The hybrids and werewolves have been behaving themselves so far. There’s no reason to believe they’ll change course now. All the corridors are guarded. And the Fire Corridor of Terror will be worth the passage through flame.”
“I don’t know about that, Ashen. The last time we portalled together to Romania and drove through the countryside, your sister tried to kill us.”
“Actually,” he says, pulling me into an embrace as the flames start climbing our calves, “the last time we portalled to Romania was from the Realm of Light, and that same night you mated with me. So, I think it worked out well.”
“Until an army of werewolves and hybrids tried to kill us,” I grumble into his chest. I wrap my arms across his back and the flames rise around us. “But yeah. It did work out well.”
The pressure builds in my head as the flames lap their sulfurous caress at our faces, reaching toward the ceiling. I hold my breath. I press my eyes closed. A roaring rush fills my skull. And then the flames fall with awhoosh, smoke filling the cauldron and cascading into the unfamiliar room.
The cellar is thick with humidity that coats the stone walls in a film of moisture and musk. There are a few empty crates stacked in a corner, the iron lid of the cauldron lying next to them, covered in a film of dust. At the side of the room is a stairway, and Ashen leads us toward it.
The main floor of the house is not what I expect. There are white plaster walls and dark wood trim, Persian rugs in shades of bright red and deep blue covering one another across the floor. It’s not a very Romanian style, but it’s opulent in its simplicity in a way that only fine craftsmanship and carefully curated art can convey. But we don’t linger to take in the details, heading straight for the door that Ashen pulls open to let me pass through.
“What thefuck?”
Ashen’s amusement tickles beneath the gold on my chest as I take in the garden and green foliage. The sky is still dark, but the faintest trace of dawn is bleeding in on the horizon, coloring it in hues of rich blue. I smell carob and fig trees. Limestone dust. Olives. Baking bread. The air is crisp, but not the biting cold of the early taste of winter that we’d left in Romania only a few weeks ago.
“We’re not in Bran,” I say.
“Are we not? Hmm. My mistake.” I turn and look up at Ashen through narrowed eyes. He gives me the hint of a devious smile as he takes my arm and pulls me toward a black sedan where a driver awaits. “Come on, vampire. We’ve got places to be.”
The driver pops the trunk as we draw close, and Ashen opens my door before placing the bag inside. Once we’re settled, the car pulls away into the empty street and I look around in confusion at the houses we pass.
“Where the hell are we? Are you kidnapping me?”
“Something like that.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Yes, I did. You asked if I was kidnapping you. I said—”
“I meant the other question.”
Ashen shrugs. “I thought that was obvious. We’re in the Living Realm,” he replies, settling back in his seat as though this is all quite entertaining. I stare at him for a moment and he has the audacity to ignore me, only giving another shrug when I whack him on the arm.
I watch out the window, trying to find anything that looks familiar.
And then I see a sign.
