Dark Skye (Immortals After Dark #15)(20)

“Be my spark,” the voice said, “and send worlds aflame. Now, wake, before it’s too late. . . .”



“Ow, OWWWW.” Lanthe came to by degrees, groaning from the pain in her face. “Who the hell hit me?” she croaked, wondering how long she’d been out.

And where was the woman? Had that truly been a dream? It’d seemed so real!

As Lanthe sat up, blinking around her, she pinched her broken nose. With a wince, she tweaked it back in place. Overcast daylight crept through spindly conifer needles, disorienting her. When her vision cleared, her face fell.

Pravus. In number. Oh, shit.

There were all kinds surrounding her: vampires, centaurs, demons, Invidia—demigods of discord—and Libitinae, winged castrators. They’d gathered in a clearing in the forest, within an encampment of rock—enormous square slabs had been stacked upright like Stonehenge, part deux. Only one person could effect that.

Lanthe craned her head around. Sure enough, Portia sat upon a stone throne, gazing at Lanthe on the ground. The sorceress’s eyes were bright behind her jade-green mask, the spikes of her pale yellow hair jutting as boldly as the mountains she’d created.

Beside her, the smoldering Emberine, Queen of Flames, had draped herself over the rock throne’s armrest, as a consort would. Apparently they were presiding over their new capital of This-Is-So-Fucked Island.

Some said Portia and Ember were sisters, while others said lovers. After spending a week in the same cell with them, Lanthe was leaning toward lovers.

She’d wanted to get closer to the key, but not like this. She gazed past them toward the outer edge of the clearing. More stones formed floating cells, caging a wood nymph, a fox shifter, an animus demon.

Thronos.

His capture didn’t surprise her, considering the sheer number of the fire demons. Plus he’d been injured. She could almost pity him—a prince of Vrekeners imprisoned by Sorceri.

They would torture him to learn the location of his home. Afterward, they would . . . keep him—as a plaything, ensorcelled to do their every bidding.

She knew well the kinds of acts they’d force him to do. What they’d force him to be.

Why did that make her bristle?

His gaze was focused on Lanthe, and he looked frenzied to reach her. One of his wings was back to nearly normal, still gnarled. The one that’d been shredded had bits of flesh trying to grow.

“It took you long enough to wake,” Portia told her. “Exactly how weak are you?”

Lanthe made it to her feet, brushing leaves off herself. Why would the great Portia care? Lanthe had a sinking suspicion: maybe the fire demons hadn’t been targeting Thronos at all.

Despite her power, Portia never would’ve captured her in the past. Sabine’s reprisal was too feared. Now? Just because the sisters had helped assassinate Omort, the Pravus leader, Lanthe was fair game for Sorceri?

Still, she regretted nothing. Her brother had had it coming. “Did you have to attack me, Portia? You know I would’ve come willingly.” I never would’ve come willingly.

“We fortuitously found you on the ground, unconscious.”

Then who hit me?

Ember added, “As if someone had left you on our doorstep, like a cat with a savaged mouse.”

Lanthe cast a worried look at Ember. Both females were diabolical. But while Portia at least listened to reason, Ember was akin to the flames she wielded—volatile.

“What did I miss?” a male voice asked.

Lanthe turned to see a sorcerer in full gold regalia striding into the clearing, a man she’d hoped never to see again.

“Has my Melanthe arisen?” Felix the Duplicitor asked, his striking face lit with a smile, his gold gleaming seductively. His Sorceri ability enabled him to make anyone believe any lie he told. She would know.

Her face heated as she remembered his fervent vows to her. When he’d promised her a future together—with gold, his protection, gold, children, and more gold—light-skirted Lanthe had been a lock.

In the throes, she’d ceded her clairsentience and battle sorcery. She hadn’t possessed her portal power yet, and he hadn’t wanted her tainted soul.

Portia turned to him. “Your pet’s only just woken.”

His pet? Lanthe ground her teeth.

He turned the full wattage of his smile on Lanthe. “It’s been an age, Mel.”

After sex, when Lanthe had asked him about a wedding date, he’d released her from his spell, chucking her chin, and remarked, “Though you tempt me sorely, there’ll be no wedding for us, dear. But wasn’t the sex enough of a reward?”

No, Felix. No, it was not. She’d slunk away, burning with humiliation, dreading how to tell Sabine that she’d lost even more powers. I’m such an idiot, she’d railed at herself, such a dupe!

“You look as ravishing as ever,” he said now, but he hadn’t used his power, so she was free to disbelieve him.

Ravishing? Her recently broken nose was swollen like a balloon, and she probably had two glaring black eyes. “And you’re the same duplicitous male you always were, Felix.” Sorceri weren’t a forthright species to begin with; needless to say, Felix was a favorite among them. “Looking no worse for wear from your prison stay.” That gold armor really was to die for.

“I’ve only recently arrived. Had a vampire friend trace me to this island for the ‘sport.’?”