Her eyes widen. “How?”
“Eleanore,” I say with a croak, the spark of her gold magic swimming in my core. “She was already dying.”
Her chest lifts then falls as her breaths uneven. “I’m malnourished and tired. Healing magic won’t help.”
“Okay, we’ll eat first, then you can rest just for a couple of hours.”
“I don’t need rest,” she argues, and I arch a brow when she yawns. “Okay, but only for two hours. I want to get as far away from this temple as possible.”
“Of course. Azkiel is going to break the blood oath tying you to the Harvest so we can get out of here.”
She lowers her voice to a soft whisper and tugs me to the side. “Do you trust him?”
I wrestle with my answer for a moment. “Our leaving is what he wants.”
Her eyes run over my dress. “Did he make this for you?” I nod and she grimaces. “Have you…” she leans closer to my ear, “grown close to him?”
“No!” The lie curls around my tongue, like a tendril of silence—because admitting the truth is far worse.
She nods. “Good. I’d hate to see you fall deeper into darkness.” Knowing threads her eyes, and she turns and walks back to Drake before I can ask her more about what happened.
Azkiel lights a torch from the wall, bathing us in shadows of flickering flames, and we form some kind of meal—mushrooms, with berries and plant leaves.
I grimace when I bring the clay plate to my nose, but my stomach grumbles in protest, and I quickly shovel down the food. When I look up, both Azkiel and Drake are glaring at each other.
Until Azkiel, he was the only one I ever thought about kissing. There were other boys, for years, ones I kissed and allowed them to touch me—distractions from the boredom of living in Ennismore. But not once had any of them consumed my thoughts. Not like Drake, and definitely not like the God of Death.
I shove my plate aside, then stand. I can’t be thinking about Azkiel’s fucking chest, or those lips, or those damned thighs. It’s my magic. It must be. Its heightened state is making me feel things toward him that I know I shouldn’t.
Ari’s blonde brows lift. “Are you getting sick, Cali? You seem flustered.”
“I’m fine,” I lie, then touch my fevered forehead, but she doesn’t look convinced. “I just need to lie down.”
Azkiel stands, his lips forming a hard line. He casts his eyes over all of us, pausing over Ari, then landing on me. “I will take the first watch,” he informs.
The wrinkle between my brows deepens as he leaves, torch in hand. We follow him, not back up the stairs, but into an adjoining room instead. He places his torch in a bracket on the wall, and my eyes trailing the flickering flames from the sconce, spilling light over the wide bedchamber.
Arabella walks up beside me, then grabs my hand as her violet gaze assesses the room. “I’m going to sleep. You should too, so we can get out of here.”
I pull my hand away from hers when decay magic stings into my fingers without warning. “I will. I just need to do something first.”
I breathe in the musty, yet lightly perfumed odor of the room, as if the incense burned here over a century ago still somehow lingers.
My mind spins as the reality of my sister’s return sinks in, accompanied by the desperation to leave this island. But the magic in my body stirs, building to a pressure that’s almost intolerable.
I press my palm against an ache in my temples, then run back out into the rain. The food did little to ease my hunger. My fingers are charred by the time I see Azkiel again. His eyes focus on the forest, wearing a quizzical look.
“Something’s wrong,” I say, coming up behind him. Ever since Ari returned, her magic has somehow heightened mine. I clamp my eyes shut, and when I open them again, Death is staring down at me with such intensity my breath stammers.
“You need to let it out, Poison.” His fingers intertwine with mine.
“How?” “I can absorb your magic,” he explains. “You’re practically vibrating with it.”
“So I would be powerless?” I ask, unconvinced.
“No, just depleted. I can’t remove your magic, but I can weaken you until we figure out what’s going on.” He looks around, then beckons me into the trees so the temple is still in sight.
We reach a clearing. Beyond the trees, a glimpse of sea disappears into the starry horizon, the black waters reflecting the bright, full moon. Heavy drops soak through my dress until I’m shivering. “I’m not sure about this.”
My powers quake, building to a crescendo as he lifts my hands onto his chest, and I scrape my fingernails into the fabric of his navy blue tunic.
“I cannot risk you accidentally killing your sister,” he says, and my stomach dips at the thought.
Azkiel’s velvety tone caresses the edges of my magic, heavy with command. “Calista, release yourself.”
THIRTY-SEVENCalista
My powers meld with his, combining in a rhythmic thrum, starting in my thighs, then lifting through my stomach. As a bloom of heat swells in my chest, a moan topples on my tongue when my mouth opens, the magic swallowing me until it tips me to the edge of reason.
The release is a stab of anger sizzled with satisfaction as his shadows slip around my body, unknotting the tension in my coiled muscles. My eyes roll into the back of my head as he pulls the dark powers from me, shred by shred, tearing it into pieces until there’s little left.
He grunts but remains unmoving against each blast, absorbing every ripple of power. When I look at him, darkness sinks into his chest as shockwaves of decay magic escape through my hands.
“Good girl,” he whispers as the last of my shadows curl around him in tendrils, sliding around his throat. I bite my lip, the words diffusing warmth into my chest.
Restraint bands in his eyes as he releases his hands from mine, but I close my fingers around him.
His shadows are wild as he drags his thumb across my cheek. A glittering ribbon of darkness ripples as it extends from his fingers, then slides around the contours of my body.
