Dark Skye (Immortals After Dark #15)(16)

Had he found out about her mother, Elisabet? Or just assumed this because Omort came from Lanthe’s family? She averted her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Untruth,” he grated. “Tell me another, and I’ll throttle you.” He shot into the sky.

“Where are you taking me?”

He headed north away from the coast back toward the island’s interior. Or maybe he headed south. East?

He didn’t answer her question, asking one of his own: “If you believed yourself to be targeted by Vrekeners, why not communicate with me in our few encounters?” He sounded almost normal.

“You always looked murderous. I couldn’t be sure that you weren’t on board with their plan to out and out kill me.”

“On board to murder my fated mate?” he said, as if she’d spoken nonsense.

“So you’re saying you had no idea that we were targeted?”

“I know what you’re trying to do, and your divisive tactics won’t work. I sought—and received—the sacred word of Vrekener knights that they would visit no harm upon you or your sister. I will always believe that over the accusations of someone like you.”

“You made them vow that?”

“I knew well that Sabine’s death would destroy you. I wanted revenge against you, not against a broken shell of a mate.”

Though this was surprising to Lanthe, it didn’t change their situation today. “It happened, Thronos. Whether you want to believe me or not.”

“You sound like you believe what you’re saying. No doubt, typical Sorceri paranoia. Your kind are notorious for it. You probably mistook a Volar demon for a Vrekener.”

“That’s the other reason I never tried to communicate with you—I knew you’d never believe me.”



On edge, Thronos didn’t reply. He just scented other immortals. They must have overrun even this farthest edge of the island.

Earlier, when he’d finally picked up the vessel’s scent, he’d begun cutting across a forest to reach it, which was proving to be more of a risk than he’d expected.

He needed to concentrate on their escape, but now that he was thinking more clearly, he couldn’t stop replaying Melanthe’s words from the night before. Why would he be her nightmare all these years? Why would she fear when a cloud crossed the sun?

Unless she’d actually been attacked.

“Why did you say that about my line?” she asked. “Being tainted?”

Melanthe didn’t know this, but Thronos had briefly met her mother when he was eleven. And it had scared the hell out of him. “I’ll answer as soon as you admit it’s true.”

She didn’t bite, instead saying, “Speaking of communication, did you ever think about contacting me when I was in Rothkalina?”

“You know that demon realm is out of my reach. The portals have been guarded by armies for the last two reigns.”

“You could’ve sent a message to a letter station at one of the portal gates.”

“What should I have written? Dear Harlot, rumor has it that you are very happy with your new life in Rothkalina with your beloved brother Omort. I hear that you have all the gold you could ever want, and I know how much you always enjoyed a good blood orgy. Well done, Melanthe! By the way, would you like to meet for a rational discussion about our future?”

“Well. I did have a lot of gold.”

Do not strangle her!

In a matter-of-fact tone, she said, “I’m just pointing out the sole true detail about your pretend letter. Oh, and you should know . . . if you keep calling me harlot, sooner or later I’m going to have a rage blackout, and then I’ll wake up to find you—awfully sadly—dead.”

“You threaten me? A powerless, physically weak sorceress?” he sneered. “I must amend my treatment of you forthwith.”

“You’ve turned into a sarcastic, unbalanced, judgmental dick.” To herself, she muttered, “Man, can I pick ’em.”

“If you take issue with the term harlot, then perhaps you shouldn’t have slept with half the Lore.”

“Half?” she scoffed. “Three-quarters for the win!”

How could she sound so bloody uncaring, when he was insulting her character?

“Besides, I don’t take issue with the term as much as the fact that you feel you can judge me. I despise judgmental people.”

“As do most creatures who deserve to be judged.”

“You got me. I’m a ho fo sho.”

What did that mean? “You speak like a human.”

She nodded, as if that hadn’t been an insult as well. “I watch a lot of TV.”

Yet another thing they didn’t have in common. “Naturally, you choose pointless pastimes.”

“I did so much reading in my first couple of centuries—when I was in hiding from Vrekeners—that I figure I can skate a little now.”

“I marvel that you had time for anything other than your conquests.”

“So I’m a TV-watching harlot who deserves to be judged?” She gave a disheartened sigh. “Thronos, you have to know that I’ll never be what you need me to be.”

He scanned the ground for movement within the stands of trees. “I was told this long ago. I also heard that I’d never survive the injuries I sustained. Then they said I’d never fly again. Yet I did, and I do. Once I get you to my home, you will become what I need.”