Dark Skye (Immortals After Dark #15)(116)

Heat sprang from her hands, seeping into him. She could see currents of it beneath his skin, blue swirls. “Heal.”

Beneath her fingertips, she felt the tiniest twinge. Had some tension eased?

Massaging. Sorcery. Massaging. “HEAL.”

His muscles . . . started to relax! His foot was returning to a normal resting position!

With a delighted laugh, she turned to his left wing. She grasped the gnarled joint, repeating the process. “Heal.”

In a rush, his wing scales rippled, like a racetrack betting board refreshing. With a snap, Thronos’s skewed mosaics settled back into their natural spellbinding alignment.

She lovingly traced the pads of her fingertips over those metallic scales. After repeating the same treatment on his right wing, she surveyed the rest of his big body.

If she knew her Vrekener, she’d bet he had other aches that he would never mention. So she gave him a sorcery-powered full-body massage.

Because he was a transitioned immortal, she didn’t know if these changes would stick. Most alterations on an immortal, such as a tattoo, would disappear within a day or so. But as long as her sorcery was flowing, she could do this every day.

Time to find out how her patient was doing. . . .



Thronos roused from a deep, ensorcelled sleep.

He shot to his feet, scowling at Melanthe. “Damn it, woman, why would you knock me out?”

Wait. Having bounded out of bed with no care—as opposed to his usual gradual rising—he should be feeling a chorus of anguish starting in his feet, shooting through his legs and torso, stabbing into his back and neck, before clawing through his wings.

Where is the pain?

He frowned down at his feet; they lined up perfectly. A sight he hadn’t seen in ages.

“You were saying?” she remarked from the bed, buffing her nails.

He tentatively unfurled his wings, groaning with relief. Holding his breath, he tried to pin them . . .

They folded and compressed, just as they were supposed to. “How? How is this possible?”

“Lanthe’s Sorcery Massage. Tee-em.”

“Don’t know what tee-em means,” he said with a grin. “You fixed my pain?”

Her own smile faded. In a voice laced with sadness, she said, “The least I could do since I gave it to you.”

And then she took it away. In no imagining had he dared to envision this. “Your powers are growing, lamb.”

He felt no pain; she was regenerating her abilities. They were both healing from the wounds of the past. He would allow no sadness on this night.

The Sorceri were right: dwelling on the past injured the present.

“Thronos, I don’t know if this is permanent. But I can do it every day if I have to—” She didn’t get to finish because he’d already taken her into his arms, and into the air.

“Are you okay with this?” he asked.

“I am.” She rested her head on his chest, her braids dancing over him. “I trust you.”

He swooped his wings as hard as he could, taking them far from the Hall, from worries, from responsibilities. Under the stars, he couldn’t contain a laugh. “I feel no pain!”

“It might only last a day.”

“So you’ll have to massage me daily?” Her hands all over him? Just like that, he was stiff for her. “Lucky me. But I must be awake next time. And I’d prefer to be on my back, sorceress.”

Her gaze glittered as her hand dipped. She parted her lips when she found him fully erect. “Take me home.”

“There’s no time like the present.” He adjusted her to their Pandemonian position, with her legs around his waist and his arms clasped securely around her.

“In the air?” Her eyes widened with excitement. “My weird, pervy Vrekener. I love it!”





FIFTY-TWO


Thronos was barely listening as Jasen and Cadmus argued over further security. A group of knights had met on one of the outermost islands, assessing weaknesses—and quarreling about defenses.

Thronos and Melanthe had been here only a week, but already the kingdom was more secure. He and the knights had implemented a successful alarm. In time, they’d install an emergency lever on every island. For now, Vrekener sentries patrolled the perimeter of the entire realm.

As a plan B, Thronos had ordered that the Territories begin their inexorable journey toward the Vrekeners’ forest outpost. After days over the ocean, they’d passed the tip of Greenland and were now crossing a wintry gulf far in the northeast of North America.

At first, the idea of an evacuation system—and an unscheduled move—had sat ill with the assembly. At least until Thronos had described some of the Sorceri power he’d witnessed on the Order’s island.

Jasen agreed with Thronos that the Vrekeners couldn’t have enough measures in place.

Cadmus believed that his king was discounting the might of their warriors—because Cadmus had never met a being like Portia and could never conceive what she was capable of until he’d seen it with his own eyes.

On the one hand, Thronos had to convince others how malevolent some Sorceri could be. On the other, he wanted them to respect his queen and worked ceaselessly to smooth her way among his people. He’d been quick to tell the assembly of Melanthe’s part in the assassination of Omort. He’d lauded all her work to neutralize threats from other factions.