The Bound (Ascension #2)(54)

Ahlvie cut at the beast, inch by inch, as it tried to bring him down. The beast was oozing rivers of thick black blood from its many wounds. Its massive fangs jutted out of its mouth, and it seemed to be trying to find a way to get past his blades and to its target.

They circled each other like fighters in a ring.

Ahlvie wondered dimly where the rest of the pack was but thanked the Creator that he didn’t have to deal with them. This one seemed to be the Alpha. He didn’t need the pack to protect him. Wherever he had come from, his objective seemed to be to kill.

When the beast lunged once more, Ahlvie twisted and slashed a dagger across the beast’s throat. It reached out, snarled, and scraped its razor-sharp claws across the front of Ahlvie’s jacket. They both fell to the ground.

Ahlvie rolled, gasping for breath.

The front of his jacket was shredded, and he pulled his arms out of the sleeves, discarding the ruined material on the floor.

“I liked that jacket,” he spat.

Blood spotted the front of his tunic from the claw marks that were reddening under his gaze.

The beast was slow to get up, but get up, it did. It appeared that the knife hadn’t completely pierced his jugular, and he was still moving, despite the blood flowing out of his throat like a torrent.

It was sluggish this time but desperate. Ahlvie barely missed a slash at his sleeve, and at the last second, he kicked up with the dagger in the toe of his boot and drove it into the beast’s chest. Ahlvie rushed at him then and brought his final dagger through the Indres’s throat, severing his jugular.

It twitched, as if clinging to life, and then fell into darkness.

Ahlvie leaned over the creature, heaving and holding his hand over the open wound on the Indres’s chest. He heard howls slice the night air, and he shuddered.

The Indres knew their leader had fallen. They would come for him. Either to take their retribution from his flesh or name him their new Alpha. He could feel them beckoning to him in the chilly night air. His pupils dilated in the dim lighting, and he choked on the summons calling to him from the Indres pack.

“No,” he whispered.

I have my own mission. I have Cyrene. Protect Cyrene.

“No, I can’t.”

The air closed in on him, and then he fell face-first onto the maze floor, next to the fallen Alpha. He busted his lip open, and his forehead split. He gasped for breath as their summons seized him. As he fought to stay away from them, black filled his vision, and he gave in to their request.





Cyrene adjusted the red mask on her face to make sure it fit snug against her skin. Red feathers were attached to one side, and the rest was studded in jewels. It obscured most of her face, but she had added a bright red lipstick after Avoca had left. She knew that she was supposed to remain invisible, but it wasn’t in her nature.

At that moment, King Creighton and Queen Jesalyn made their grand entrance. Cyrene stifled a laugh. Jesalyn had done just what Cyrene had suspected—scrapped the dress she’d had prepared for the occasion and gone with something Cyrene had claimed was all the rage in Albion. The gown was an obnoxious pink color with a million overlapping pieces of ribbon cascading down to the ground over a large tulle skirt. The top dipped in a V lower than Cyrene would ever consider decent and had a wide collar that was hardly flattering.

Cyrene tore her eyes from Jesalyn long enough to search out Kael. To the King’s right, he stood in Byern formal clothing. Oh, how she had missed it! Home called to her at the sight of him in Dremylon green and gold.

King Creighton stepped forward to address the crowd, “Lords and ladies, noble houses of Aurum, esteemed guests of House Iolair, I, Creighton Lanett Cavel Iolair, Arrow of the Huntress and Guardian of the Eagle, King of Aurum, and my lovely wife, Jesalyn Adelaida Dremylon Iolair, Queen of Aurum, do welcome you to the first ball of the Eos festival season.”

The King drunkenly pitched forward, and Jesalyn quickly stepped in to keep him upright.

“I, Queen Jesalyn Iolair, the Living Huntress and Savior of the Eagle, have prepared this supreme occasion for our honored royal guests. It is my great pleasure to welcome each and every one of you this evening. I am fortunate enough to have my brother, Crown Prince Kael Dremylon of Byern, with us this evening.” She gestured toward Kael, who bowed. “In addition to that, this ball marks the end of our time with Prince Dean Ellison of Eleysia.”

Cyrene’s throat went dry. From behind Jesalyn’s left shoulder, a man stepped forward. He was tall with light hair pulled back off his face.

That beautiful face. The hunter from the forest.

No.

She couldn’t be this stupid. It just wasn’t possible for that Prince Dean Ellison of Eleysia to be her Dean. She had thought that he was just some common hunter. With the way his friends had gone on about his father, maybe a merchant’s son or even a nobleman’s son. But a foreign prince?

She’d had her fair share of speaking indignantly to Kael and even Edric, but she never should have acted like that around Dean. She had berated him for his kill, told him to give it over to the hungry, and refused to see him ever again. And he could have been their ticket out of here. A very handsome ticket at that.

“Thank you so much for attending. Now, let’s dance.”

Queen Jesalyn took the hand of her husband, and they walked out to the center of the dance floor as the rest of their party followed in their wake including Orden. Music started from an orchestra against one wall, and soon, the entire room was flowing with dancers.