Dark Skye (Immortals After Dark #15)(45)

The farther inside, the hotter the air was. That red glare grew as they neared. When he reached it at last and paused in the arched opening, he saw a larger cavern, filled with bubbling lava. A sole raised path bisected it, one that appeared to lead straight into hell.

Kicking free of the piles of stone weighted around his legs, he launched himself off the edge. He glided down to the path, then set Melanthe on her feet.

As he shook sand from his hair, he gazed back at the tunnel.

Completely caved. Only one way to go.

He turned back to the path. Ahead, more streams of lava wound along it. A metal bridge in the distance glowed red hot. “I think we’re in one of the armies’ lairs.”

“Then we need to find a way out, before anyone sees us.”

“I scent food cooking from one direction,” he said, “and corpse rot from the other.”

“So there’s a camp and a burial area? Let’s head toward the latter. It’d be less populated, less guarded.”

As they walked in silence, he kept his hand on her arm, in case he needed to shield her in a hurry. With each step away from that cave-in, his unease faded.

“When you find yourself going through hell, keep going, right?” she asked, casting him a look from under her lashes. Again, he didn’t recognize the look, but he thought it was . . . flirtatious.

He tried to focus, lest he get them captured or killed, but he couldn’t stop replaying their interaction under his wings—and how she’d run her finger down to his breeches. He’d been a heartbeat away from taking her hand and making her feel what she was doing to him. He’d imagined how he would groan her name as she outlined his shaft through the leather. He’d barely defeated the urge to lick sweat from her neck.

Finding this realm’s portal had become even more important, because his sense of right and wrong seemed to be eroding. He could no longer trust himself to heed the laws of his people.

He was the prince of the Vrekeners, a general of knights. Yet how easily she had him falling under her spell! He’d known she was using her wiles on him, but that hadn’t lessened the effect of her charms.

Until he could return home, he needed to steel himself against her, a task that would be even more difficult after his discovery today.

Sexual chemistry is addictive.

Whenever he’d felt that electricity sparking between them, the pain from his old injuries had ebbed under the heat of excitement. . . .

She cast him a quizzical look. “What are you thinking about?”

“Chemistry,” he answered.

Her lips curled, and she left him to his thoughts.

All his life, he’d speculated how she would react to his scars. He’d been astonished to learn that she had no issues with him physically—merely issues with, well, everything else.

Even she admitted that their chemistry crackled.

From thousands of lofty perches, he’d gazed down upon Lorean wickedness. Watching an offendment was almost as bad as committing one, so he’d always turned away, but those glimpses had taught him much. He’d seen immortals addicted to intoxispells, begging to do anything for more.

Thronos had never understood addiction before. Now he wondered what he wouldn’t do for more of this sizzling interplay with his mate.

Might he stop insulting her?

Perhaps he should go even further and court her. As a boy, he’d done so and found success. She’d liked to be given presents. Good thing he’d snagged that medallion from the temple.

When they’d run from the dragon, Thronos had stretched out his talon for it. Now he had it hidden in his pocket.

A stray thought flitted through his brain. How many gifts of jewelry have other males given her? To reward her for sex? His grip tightened around her arm, his horns aching to mark her again.

Just because he had a goal of treating her better didn’t mean he could achieve it. Wrath still lived within him. . . .

“Strange that we haven’t seen a soul,” she said, frowning at his grip.

He eventually eased it. “There’s nothing of value to guard. Plus, they’re probably still on the battlefield.”

After what felt like leagues, the trail forked, the two branches heading in opposite directions.

“Which way to the corpse rot?” she asked him.

He waved to the right, and they kept moving.

As they neared the burial area, the stench became overwhelming. Another cavern opened up, larger than the initial one. It’d likely been chosen for its size because it was filled to the ceiling with a mountain of bones, decapitated bodies, and horned skulls.

The mound had a creeping, rippling coat of rats. The skittering mass darted in and out of the remains, as if along paths.

When Melanthe’s eyes went wide at the gruesome sight, he tugged her back. “There’s no exit. Let’s head the other way.”

“Are you trying to protect my innocent eyes?” This seemed to amuse her. “I was just nine when my parents’ heads dropped off their bed and rolled toward me like wayward toys. When I was eleven, I used a shard of my sister’s skull to scoop up her brain matter and put her back together again. I haven’t been innocent since my life became entangled with Vrekeners.”

If his knights truly had hunted the two Sorceri girls, the attacks would have been unending. A living hell.

Vrekeners never abandon their hunt.