Page 60 of The Surrender

“Hers?” I flex every muscle in my wing even though I know the answer.

One nod. One flare of his nostrils.

“You smell it?”

Another nod. So subtle, I could have blinked and missed it.

Narrowing my vision, I study the indent of her little body in the damp mud. No tracks anywhere. No sign of her retreating from this place. As if she was waiting for us and disappeared into thin air.

Or someone took her.

The storm of wrath claws through my chest, breaking my ribcage and icing every drop of warm blood in my veins. Merikh is the deepest, darkest, and coldest water that will absorb my storm. When a tremor shudders up my spine, and I threaten to unravel, he turns and grips the base of my jaw. His claws dig into the base of my cheeks.

“Fucking keep it together, Kyan,” he thunders deep and low enough to vibrate into my chest and take the storm down a notch. Not to mention his wet strands fracturing his face like spills of black ink. Dangerous shadows brew in his eyes. “You’re right. Someone took her.” He lowers his hand and stabs his chin to the right. “Split up. Spread out. You take the inner side closer to the village. I’ll go deeper.”

He leaves without another word. I know he won’t be gone long. Won’t part from me when we’re both in such a volatile state. But I’ll wager we will align in ripping the spinal cord of anyone who took our little queen. The vision of blood and flesh and teeth and bones blinds me—the aftermath of whatever predator spilled her blood and stole her.

Veins icing over, I battle through the branches, finding a sliver of a gap where I spy the village. My emotions are too turbulent, threatening to split at the seams. The more I rage, the greater the storm lashes around me. The wind threatens to fell whole trees.

“How could you do it? She. Is. Not. Erya!” I bellow to the bastard force inside me.

How you will fall...is all he offers me. I unleash a tidal wave of curses upon him.

As I advance upon the village, barreling toward the clearing, a familiar figure scrambles for me. Her wings, stitched onto her arms, are as soaked as the rest of her. A wild terror in her wide eyes as she struggles against the throes of wind.

I stop dead in my tracks. Bracing myself for the worst.

Zephella plunges through the forest line and gasps, “Lord Kyanatu, I have a message for you.”

With the branches clawing at our bodies, she winces and bows her head. “Forgive me, My Lord. I had no choice.”

“Out with it, woman. Where. Is. She?”

“This is his message: the Lord of the Court of Storms is to come alone. The fallen god of the angels will come to the cave of bones. If anyone steps foot into his under-realm with you, he will...” She swallows hard, her voice cracking while tears blur her eyes.

“He will what?"

The stillness of the eye overthrows me in her silence. A precursor to the devastation to come. It vibrates beneath the surface, humming in my blood. A tempest waiting to howl.

She clutches her throat. Her tear-stricken eyes bore into mine. And she shakes her head wildly. “He will kill her in the same way that you did Erya.”

I unleash the storm.

And don’t give a damn over who or what gets in my way.

41

“Do you know the best way to break a soul is to break the heart?”

QUINTESSA

The horror of this place is no less spine-chilling.

The bones and skulls of countless babies surround me as I sit, shivering in the center of the cave. Each ragged breath is a little windstorm escaping my mouth. Icy air stings my throat whenever I inhale. My skin is a host for gooseflesh. I hold my ailing stomach where nausea threatens to launch bile into my throat.

“Do try not to retch all over the gown,” Nuriel urges me from behind while he paces.

The dark shadows of his demon wings pass over me whenever he approaches. It reminds me of a shadow of death, a predictive omen of demise. He even dressed for the occasion in a magnificent robe like the ones Kyan has worn in the Court of Storms. One fit for a noble male angel.

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