Page 70 of A Realm of Fire and Ash

The two of us stand quickly, rushing to hunt for a change of clothes.

“Is everything okay?” she calls from the door.

I turn from where I’m grabbing a shirt off a hanger and flash her a grin. “Yeah, we’re alright.”

"My clothes have been incinerated." She winces, glancing down at her naked form. Her cheeks flush a deep crimson as she stands there, exposed.

Emeric pulls himself to his feet. "Come on, I've got a shirt and some drawstring pants you can cinch tight under your armor."

The idea of a hunt again makes me bristle, after having spent more than an hour searching for her before I'd been overrun and attacked, but we have no other choice. After dressing, Emeric, Morte, and I link hands and walk towards the living room, three battle-worn warriors in search of more bloodshed.

I glance from the corner of my eye at the woman beside me, trying to remember the last time I felt contentment like this.

We pause in front of the upturned couch, and I take in the state of the living room. Blood covers the couch cushions, there's an arrow embedded in the wall, and a trail of blood is smeared across the floor.

Letting go of Morte's hand, I stand at the center of the room and close my eyes, my arms outstretched as I call to the metals in the blood all over the room. It sparks and shifts, gathering around me in a shimmering aura I can feel behind my eyelids. A gasp next to me has my lips curling into a satisfied smirk before I open my eyes and turn to Morte.

"Let's go get your victory." I hold out a hand to her.

“Oh, wait! I need boots.” She glances down at her adorable bare feet.

“Come on.” Emeric chuckles, taking off towards the back room.

Morte shoots me a grateful glance before scurrying after him down the hall, leaving me alone in the living room. I take a few moments to myself, gathering the power around me into a small blade before sheathing it in my pocket.

A crescendo of joyous laughter drifts down the hallway, stirring me from my daze. I force my feet forward, propping myself up in the doorway, my breath held in awe as I take in the scene. Morte stands in the center of the room, her body engulfed in a pair of boots that are eight sizes too large. Emeric isn't as big as me, but he's still tall, like most demons, and has thick thighs and a solid waist. He sits at the foot of his bed, his face splitting into a deranged smile as he watches Morte with an unshakable fascination. Light from the morning sun filters through the window, illuminating her hair as though it were a brilliant fire.

They don't notice me standing here, and she stomps around the room, her laughter ringing out as she wraps her hands around the drawstring around her waist and clomps the enormous boots on her feet. The pants billow as she spins, her movements full of all the grace I'd expect from a phoenix fae, despite the too-big attire, but it's her smile that steals my breath. The sight takes me back to the days when I was a boy, back when I would play in the gardens of the palace with my brother and sister. That same unrestrained joy is there in Morte's laugh, and I'm suddenly filled with intense yearning.

A wave of longing grips my chest, tugging me towards the warmth of home and her laughter. I hunger to be engulfed in it, to bask in the brilliance of her joy that radiates like a blinding sun. But before my dreamlike trance can take me any further, Emeric's voice jolts me back to reality—a painful reminder of what I can never be.

"Morte."

She stops twirling and turns to face him, her laughter dying down as she takes in his expression. Her eyes dance between the two of us, and for a brief moment, I sense something in the air. If there was more time. If she hadn't made a promise to Caius.

Fucking Caius.

Emeric gestures to the door. "How about you give us a dance once we secure you a victory?"

"Good idea." Her cheeks ignite with color as she crouches to lace the boots, and I use my magic to bolt metal to them to cinch them tighter.

I retreat to grab her armor from the other room and return with it in hand. After helping her buckle it around her slim waist, I step back and try to ignore the rapid pounding of my heart.

"I was thinking," Emeric approaches us, arms folded across his chest, "we've got about sixteen hours left of the hunt, and Morte is behind." He turns his attention to me. "Let's head to the Crimson Trail, and she'll be caught up in no time."

"And how do you propose we avoid her getting slaughtered at every turn? That's the busiest path through these woods, and it's teeming with deathwings, night stalkers, soulstealers, and shadow stalkers at night. And then you've got all the wraiths."

"If we can hide in the trees near the Charred Glade, you can handle the beasts, while I use my shadow magic to create a trap. It'll just be a matter of getting enough arrows together."

"A trap?" Morte furrows her brows.

Emeric grins. "Everyone wants to get their hands on Caius' favorite pet—their words, not mine—so let them think you're wounded, then pick them off from the trees."

"And how the hell am I supposed to be in two places at once?"

I clap my hand on Emeric' shoulder. "You're a genius," I bellow, my face split into a maniacal grin.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

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