Page 86 of Cosmic Power

Void grunted and followed. “Who do you think those ‘Royals’ are that the dude mentioned?”

Luther flattened against the wall and peeked into the next room, scanning it quickly before walking past the entryway. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s the fae dressed in the gold armour.”

They came to a flight of stairs and slowly began making their way up. They still had not come across a single soul. Luther wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

At the top of the stairs, the hall spanned left and right, a set of double doors waiting at the end of each. Luther adjusted his grip on his sword, darting his head from side to side, trying to figure out which one to go for first.

“I’ll take the left,” Void said, stepping towards it.

“No. We go together.” Luther didn’t trust the shifter to go off on his own.

“Cut me some slack, Lord Douche. I can clear a room without you breathing down my fucking neck. Plus, we have more of a chance of finding her if we split up.”

“I said no. Now, come. We’ll check the right one first.”

Luther didn’t need to wait to see if Void would follow. He knew he would. When he got to the door, Luther pressed his ear against the wood, listening carefully.

“Hear anything?” Void whispered, shifting from one foot to the other. He had a lot of pent-up energy and was finding it hard to stand still.

“Just you,” Luther glared. He took a deep breath in, sifting through the different scents in the air. “I can’t scent her. Can you?”

Void inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling. “No. It’s weird. I’m not getting anything. Not even your stench.”

Luther ignored the insult. He gripped the door handle and pushed it open, his senses on high alert and sword at the ready. There was a chance that there were fae behind the door. And if there were, he would kill them without blinking.

ChapterTwenty-Four

Zamorra held her breath, waiting, her nerves a jumbled mess. She heard the door open behind her and she hated the fact that ice-cold fear slivered down her spine. The torture the Gold King had inflicted on her left her shaky, and as much as it killed her to admit, terrified. The shit he could do with his telekinetic ability was without a doubt the worst thing she had ever experienced.

The Gold King had been gone for an hour or so; just long enough for her wounds to heal (which she originally found surprising).

She assumed her accelerated healing would be down for the count since she couldn’t access her werewolf’s power, and yet she felt her skin stitch back together everywhere she’d been cut.

The collar around her neck was an intricate piece of work, designed to keep her werewolf locked away tight while still giving her the ability to heal. Zamorra guessed it was so their prisoners didn’t die too quickly.

She tensed when two fae—one dressed in silver and the other in bronze—rounded the corner, weapons in their hands.

“Zamorra!” the bronze one exclaimed, running up to her and hugging her tightly, wrapping his limbs around the wooden X she was strapped to.

She reared back in shock, spitting out his long white hair that ended up in her mouth. “What the fuck, man? Get off me.” She locked eyes with the silver-armoured fae over his shoulder and a tingle ran down her spine.

Her brows slammed down in a frown, eyeing him with confusion. There was something familiar about him, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Her eyes darted up and down his powerful form. Her mind was telling her the being in front of her was fae, through and through. But her heart was telling her something different.

Something about him called to her, made her heart thump loudly in her chest and her breath catch in her throat. She had no idea why she was reacting to him. Not until he spoke, his voice deep and sinfully erotic.

“Hello, Little Alpha.”

Her body surged to life, like an electric current shocked her insides. A wave of emotion swept over her. Those two words. She never thought she’d hear those two words again.

“Luther?” she breathed, her eyes widening.

He looked exactly like one of the fae. Long white hair, pointed ears, purple eyes. His already-sculpted facial features were even sharper, accentuating his ruggedly handsome looks. Even his voice had the alluring quality the fae possessed. If it wasn’t for the fact she heard those words fall from his lips, she would swear on her life that the being in front of her was a fae.

He marched forward, twirling his sword before slashing at her restraints, cutting them away like tissue paper. She fell forward, the brunt of her weight collapsing on the bronze-armoured fae, who was still hugging her.

“What about me? Don’t tell me you recognise Lord Douche and not your own uncle?” he said, lightly placing her on her feet.

Zamorra laughed and hugged him tight, her body filling up with relief. “What the fuck is going on right now? I don’t even-how did—” she choked, overwhelmed with emotion. She let him go and stared at Luther, her mind reeling.

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