Page 182 of The Ascended
What had she meant? The drink wasn't poison, It was something designed to lower inhibitions, to make us vulnerable. But why warn me about that specifically? What wasn't I seeing?
I touched my reflection in the mirror, feeling the warm skin beneath my palm. My hands fell to grip the edges of the basin, knuckles whitening with the force of my grasp. I shook my head, trying to steady myself further.
Just sober up. Keep your head on straight. Survive this night.
Otherwise, I'd only humiliate myself. My mind flickered to the exchange with Xül and I winced. I'd come across as childish, jealous,ridiculous.
But what had been his problem? Why pull me away from Axel with such obvious displeasure? If I didn't know better, I'd say he looked...jealous.
No.
I needed to stop being a bloodyidiot.
I took several deep breaths, centering myself in my body, in this moment. The room around me swam into focus, the colors less overwhelming, the sensations more manageable. Whatever had been in that drink hadn't fully dissipated, but I could think clearly now, could navigate the remainder of this evening without making a complete fool of myself.
Gods, I’d only taken one sip. What would I be doing if I’d downed the entire thing?
As I turned to leave, a message caught my eye, etched into the back of the door in letters that pulsed:Give In And Burn.
I stared at it for a long moment. Another warning? Or an invitation to surrender to whatever this night held? I couldn't be sure, but the sight of it sent a chill down my spine.
When I opened the door, the sounds of revelry crashed back over me—laughter, music, a racket of conversations blending together. I stepped back into the corridor.
As I passed an open doorway, movement caught my eye, forcing me to pause. Through the entrance, I saw two Legends—a pale-skinned man and a woman with hair that cascaded down her back in waves of midnight blue. They moved together on a chaise of dark velvet, their bodies slick with sweat, golden eyes half-lidded in pleasure.
His hands gripped her hips with bruising force as she arched against him, her nails raking crimson paths down his chest. There was nothing divine or ethereal about their coupling—it was raw, primal, animalistic in its intensity. Her head fell back, exposing the column of her throat, which he claimed with teeth and tongue. The sounds they made were wild, deep growls and breathless moans that seemed to vibrate in the air.
I stood there a beat too long before awareness crashed back into me. My face went hot in an instant—body responding to the scene before I could stop it. I tore my gaze away, moving quickly down the corridor.
I nearly stumbled in my haste, passing other entwined bodies in alcoves and open chambers. Divine society had abandoned all pretense of restraint, it seemed. Suddenly, I felt a pulse down the bond and my eyes shot left. Thatcher grinned lazily as he was led down another hallway by a woman with silver-white tresses that seemed to float around her shoulders.
I rolledmy eyes.
I needed to find Marx, to make sure she was alright. The effects of whatever we'd consumed seemed to have hit her harder than me, and I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened to her while I was busy licking my wounds over Xül.
When I burst back into the main ballroom, my eyes scanned the crowd. I found Kyren lounging against a pillar, deep in conversation with another contestant. We made eye contact, and I waved, relieved to see a friendly face. He smiled and returned the gesture, beckoning me over.
As I made my way toward him, I hesitantly looked around for Xül, but didn't find him in the crowd. Nyvora was similarly absent. The implications of that sent a fresh spike of pain through my chest, and I pushed the thought away. I knew he didn’t feel that way about her—that perhaps he even hated her, but the evening had devolved into a hedonistic whirlwind, and I wasn’t sure if that would stop them. Hate sex, after all, was quite thrilling, or so I’d heard. Gods. I didn't need to torture myself with imagining what they might have been doing in some private corner of this palace.
"Have you seen Marx?" I asked Kyren when I reached him, not bothering with pleasantries.
He looked around, dark eyes scanning the crowd. "Last I saw, she was standing over there, gawking at Chavore and Elysia—they were… well, putting on quite a performance." He pointed toward a far corner of the ballroom.
We both looked, but there was no sign of Marx, Chavore, or Elysia. Only more dancers, more drinkers, more immortals losing themselves in the moment.
"Do you need help finding her?" he asked, concern creasing his brow.
"No," I said, shaking my head. "You should enjoy yourself. I'll keep looking."
He smiled and nodded.
I reached out to Thatcher through our bond—which was hazy now.Where did Marx go?
His response came immediately, tinged with irritation.She started dancing with someone else. Now would you politely leave me alone? I'm in the middle of something.
He slammed the bond closed with more force than necessary. Of course my brother would be enjoying divine favors while I worried about our friend. Typical.
I continued pushing through the crowd, growing more anxious with each passing moment, until finally—finally—I spotted Marx. She was dancing with two other contestants, a man and a woman I vaguely recognized from the earlier Trials. Her movements were fluid, uninhibited, her laughter bright enough to cut through the general din. She looked perfectly fine, lost in the moment but in no apparent danger.
