Page 47 of Of Spindles and Nightfall
“Aryana, you aresafe. Open your eyes. It’s only a memory. You’re safe.”
Only a memory.Aryana’s eyes flew open. The satin curtains of Zarathos’s bedchamber emerged into focus.Her hand was no longer touching the crystal sphere. Her breaths came fast. But somehow, she registered Zarathos sitting on the floor, his arms around her, holding her in his lap.
Her body shook uncontrollably, her gasps coming so hard it hurt her chest. And Zarathos held her, murmuring over and over. “You’re safe.”
Eventually, his warmth seeped through her panic. Her breaths slowed, and her muscles relaxed. Nobody had taken Aryana in their arms so many years ago after that traumatic event and reassured her she was safe. Not her uncle, not even her mother.
Nobody.
She leaned limply against him, listening to the steady cadence of his voice until the world settled back around her.
“You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.”
And for a moment, she almost believed it to be true. It wasn’t. But gods, how she wanted it to be.
Even before Zarathos had kidnapped her, sold her off to King Salen, and forced her into a bargain, Aryana hadn’t felt safe.
She hadn’t felt safe for a very long time.
Chapter 17
Zarathos
Zarathos stalked ahead of Aryana, walking down the worn and overgrown midnight path. Brush grazed up against his clothes and large pine trees rose on either side of them as they went deeper into the blackened woods.
He’d waited until nighttime, then transported her within the shadows out of the castle through the secret passageway.
“Where are we going?” Aryana asked. Her voice remained somewhat shaky.
“Someplace that might calm you.” He could have whisked her all the way there through the shadows, but he suspectedthe exertion would be good for her, especially after being trapped in King Salen’s tower and then Zarathos’s chambers.
Or perhapshejust craved the exertion. Gods, the princess’s life was a constant cascade of misfortune, each disaster worse than the last. Zarathos’s life hadn’t been easy, but his struggles seemed smaller when faced with the terrors of her past, making him wonder how she still clung to her sanity.
And yet Aryana was up and fighting. Somehow filled with her unyielding determination and passion.
His vampress was a force to be reckoned with.
A sourness churned in his gut. Here he was dragging her into the damn demon trials, as if she needed any more horrifying experiences in her life.
They walked for almost an hour in silence. Zarathos kept close tabs on her breathing. Now more stable than before. The instant things in that room had started to worsen, he’d attempted to remove her from the crystal ball. But she’d somehow tuned him out, as if she had to relive every moment of that nightmare before she could leave. And Zarathos had to watch with her until she finally let him reach her and pull her from that hellscape.
When he heard the trickling of the stream, he picked up his pace. After arriving, he paused by the water and stared up at the moon, closing his eyes and sucking in his own calming breath. “This is the place.”
Zarathos had always found the sound of running water soothing. Along the edges of the stream, moonmire lilies bloomed—flowers with silvery, translucent petals that reflectedthe moonlight and only opened under its glow. The soft sounds of toads and other nocturnal creatures trilled in the background.
He turned to see Aryana’s face as she observed her surroundings. Like the lilies, a silvery radiance danced along her long dark hair, and her wide crimson eyes shimmered with curiosity. One word rose unbidden in Zarathos’s mind.
Lovely.
“I recognize this place,” she said. “This is the tapestry that hangs on the wall in your bedchamber.”
“Yes, it helps to bring serenity when my thoughts are unsettled,” he said, noticing a small frog make its way across the stream. “But it’s nothing compared to the real thing.”
Aryana’s brows pulled together, and her face pinched tight.
“What is the matter, Vampress?”
“It’s so… beautiful.”
