Burnt Devotion (Imdalind, #5)(61)

The old street was lined with the bodies of the creatures I had killed. One or two that had somehow survived the wave of destruction sat clawing at doors as if they were a lost dog looking for a home.

I watched one of the mud brown creatures as we ran, its movements growing more frantic with each step. The thing was oblivious to our presence thanks to the shield and to the heard of creatures that followed us, covering the sound of our steps.

It wasn’t that it hadn’t noticed us that caught my attention, though. It was its movements. It was the empty street that had graced my sight only moments before. It was the way the blood ran through the cobbles and the windows that were shuttered with heavy panels of carved wood. I had been here only moments before.

I stopped in place without realizing it, Ilyan’s hand slipping from mine as I felt his panic accelerate alongside my heart rate. The heavy thump of my heart against my rib cage was almost painful. The pulse had been heavy since the sun had been cut with black, and this was no different, except it wasn’t in fear. It was in numb disbelief.

Joclyn, Ilyan pleaded as he took my hand once more. We have to move. The clock is just here.

We can’t go to the clock, Ilyan. I finally pulled my focus from the door to my mate, to his bright blue eyes that, although confused, I knew at once would follow me anywhere, no matter what I said.

He intertwined my fingers with his in silence, his grip strong as his magic flooded me, as the scream of the Vil?s increased, as they began to search the alleys around the explosion for us.

Ilyan was right, we needed to move.

My magic fused with his as it swam away from me, soaring through the tiny maze of streets we were closeted in, the hidden fear ramming into me from somewhere off to our left.

I ran without looking, ran into yet another narrow street, past more grimy doors and ancient stoops that were splattered with blood and bodies. Focused on the way the emotions were surging, I listened to the heightened screams of our pursuers as I swung down another side street, this one even smaller than that last.

Finally, I faced the door so covered with scratches and blood I was surprised that there was any wood left to it.

“Here.”

Ilyan said nothing through his confusion. He only pushed the door open with a pulse of his magic then pulled us into the dark space as a warm, pungent wind moved past us, the door closing as a dozen tiny bodies hit against it.

The sound of the thuds, of the screams, and of the claws as they ground against the wood was deafening in the pitch-black space we had moved into. The noise flooded us, the frustrated screams growing in intensity before they began to dissipate. My tense body slowly loosened as I remembered to breathe, though I still wasn’t sure it was safe to.

It came out in a massive exhale while Ilyan’s free arm wrapped around me, pulling me against him, his mind still swimming with questions. Instead, he said nothing, choosing to pepper the top of my head in grateful kisses.

“It’s okay…” I gasped, my words heaving with the fear that I hadn’t registered until now. “We’re okay…”

“Who’s there?” The voice shook through the dark with an intensity I hadn’t been expecting.

I jumped, and Ilyan’s arm became nothing short of a vice as he held me against him, the limp body of the child pressing against me.

I stared into the dark as Ilyan’s muscles tightened, his mind moving as fast as mine had in trying to figure out what we had walked into. What we were trapped with.

What I had done.

“Answer me!” the voice came again, this time the decidedly female tones shaking with fear.

Ilyan relaxed a bit at the shake, even though his arm still stayed tight.

“We mean you no harm,” Ilyan began, his voice that gentle calm I remembered from the first day I had spoken to him, his accent thick as he rolled his consonants around. “We needed shelter…”

“Ilyan?” the voice interrupted, the shake entirely gone now as the one word expanded into a babble of whispers in the dark that surrounded us.

I tensed at the use of his name, while Ilyan relaxed, a swelling joy moving through him as his heart rate thundered in my ear.

“My lord?”

“Yes.”

It was one word, but with it, the darkness erupted in light and color, flares of magic tingling against my own as concealed magic broke free of binds that I didn’t even know you could place. I cringed against the light, pressing my face into Ilyan’s chest as he held me, his hand a wide span against my back.

The torrent of noise, of surprise, of awed whispers only grew as the light did. The rustle of amazement was so loud that I turned my head enough to see the battle worn people that littered the dilapidated space, their faces gaunt and haggard, their clothes singed and torn, but their eyes were bright with a hope so strong I was sure they hadn’t felt the emotion in ages.

They looked at us, at Ilyan, in awe before, as one, they bowed to the ground, their bodies bending the same way I had seen in the courtyard so long ago. The respect was so deep I could only stare in open-mouthed wonder, the carnage that we had left forgotten at the scene that was unfolding before us.

“Our lord, the king of our people,” they said in harmony, their voices loud as they swelled inside of me. Ilyan’s body was a tense calm underneath me. “We bow before you in allegiance, in devotion. We serve you now and for as long as the magic flows within the earth.”