The Demon's Shadow [Galatea]

POV: NAZARIUS

Rain pelts from the skies, winds strong enough that the trees creak, threatening to break. I race through the forest as fast as I can, fighting the winds and hurrying toward the sound of my little bunny’s heartbeat.

I have to strain to hear it, the weather doing its best to drown it out. But between one step and the next, the struggling drumbeat falls silent.

No.

The weight of the world slams into my chest with a force that has me stumbling. Breathing becomes near impossible, ice freezing my lungs. The world is eerily still, the silence of her heart reflected in the sudden loss of wind.

The clouds clear, but not even the light of the sun is strong enough to banish the darkness that settles across the forest.

I break into the clearing, my eyes confirming what my ears have already discovered.

Nero crouches before Azariah, her green eyes soulless, staring unblinking into the distance. Her chest is still, fresh tears tracing her too-pale cheeks. Blood drips from her nose, her eyes, her mouth; it paints her in death.

My voice escapes me, a thousand words on my tongue. But the only words that matter are the ones she can’t hear any longer.

“Well, this is rather disappointing,” Nero complains, lifting Azariah’s lifeless body and throwing her over his shoulder.

“What did you do?” I demand, even if the blood on her face paints a clear picture. The power took her life, like we were warned it would. I didn’t succeed in helping her, and I promised her we would find a way out of this.

Still, I have no doubt Nero is at fault for the final use of power that cost her life. And because of him, she died scared and alone.

Nero shrugs, uncaring of the fragile body he jostles with the movement. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not happy about this outcome either.”

No, it doesn’t make me feel better.

Ripping his throat out might.

I take a single step forward, but Nero just smirks, giving me pause.

“Nero,” I warn, my voice dropping as I begin to give in to darkness and violence. “She is the princess of Tharvoria. She has to be returned in an attempt to avoid war.” Even if I’d rather not send her so far out of my reach.

“Was,” Nero corrects. “Now she’s nothing.”

I lunge, but Nero slips into the nearest shadow moments before my claws connect with him. The growl that escapes me begins in frustration but ends in anguish. Because none but the Dark Fae can shadow travel, and if he was able to take her with him…then she is truly lost.

My claws rake down a tree as I drop to my knees, the earth beneath me smelling like her. Cinnamon and fire, tainted with the tangy smell of iron.

“Where is she?” Alastor demands as he stumbles into the area. “Why does it smell like blood?”

“She’s dead.” I barely recognize my own voice.

Alastor swallows loudly. “You’re certain?” He practically whispers the words, as though he’s afraid of the answer.

Shoving away from the tree, I avoid his gaze. “Yes, there is no doubt. He shadow traveled with her.”

I wonder, does Nero think he can hide from me? There is no way of knowing where he went specifically—but I know where he’s going. If he thinks there’s even the slightest chance I’m not going to hunt him down and tear him limb from limb, then he’s not as smart as he likes to think.

Blood or not, demon king or not, there is no force in this realm or any of them that will keep him from my claws.

“War will come,” Alastor breathes solemnly. “I need to warn Aurelius and the Fae queen.”

“I’ll do my best to avoid war,” I promise, knowing the words are empty. If Azariah’s upbringing is any indication, the Dragon Kingdom is going to roll over these courts with unmatched vengeance.

“We both know that’s not possible.” Alastor hesitates before continuing. “If you don’t tell them, we will buy ourselves time to prepare.”

I shake my head at him, tossing him a look that says what I think of that. “They haven’t seen her in months. Don’t you think they deserve to know what’s happened to their daughter? Their future?”

His eyes are hard as he meets my gaze. “And what of our future? The future of those in our care?”

Azariah was in my care.

“If we have any hope for repairing the fragile peace, we cannot deceive them,” I argue.

“There is no hope!” he snaps, surging forward a few steps. “There has never been peace, merely tolerance. If the Dragon Kingdom wishes to burn the entire Fae realm, they may very well succeed.”

“That doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to know the truth,” I declare. The fact is I’ve already made up my mind. I told them in the letter I’d update them on Azariah’s well-being. This isn’t the message I wish to be sending, but it’s necessary. War will come either way, and I’ll be damned if I don’t do right by her.

“Condemn us all then, Nox Aurelion. Go hide in your far corner, knowing you’ll likely be the last place they visit on their war path.” Fire licks at his heels as he storms off. I don’t follow, don’t correct him.

For a long while, I do nothing, standing unmoving in the patch of forest that smells of the female I love.

I wonder if she has already passed into the final realm or if she’s still making her final crossing in the Dream Realm. I could visit, find out, but I’m not certain I’d survive watching her cross over.

And it’s dangerous to stray so close to the shores of the Realm of Souls when one is still alive. Dreamwalkers have lost their lives because they stepped where the living should never tread.

The shadows have never felt so numbing before, the world blazing by as I step from point to point, making the long journey in a handful of minutes. The ward stirs my magic as I step back into my Kingdom, its beauty in late spring lost on me right now. The warmth in the air can’t penetrate the ice that has taken root within.

The moment I step foot into my office, Narayan and Ezekiel arguing in the corner, the world falls off its axis.

The two males fall silent immediately, neither daring to speak as a soft whine escapes Žydrūnas.

“Where is Azariah?” Ezekiel finally asks, the pained edge of his voice a knife to my crumbling heart.

“She’s dead.” The words come out flat, almost like they’re not real. “I need to send a letter. Then we must prepare for war.”

My steps fall heavy on the wood as I cross to my desk. The task of writing a letter has never seemed so daunting. So difficult.

“And you?” Narayan presses carefully, easing himself into one of the chairs across from the desk. “Should we be concerned about your soul?”

I nearly laugh. “The bond was incomplete,” I murmur. “So no, it’s not a risk.”

Ezekiel is still standing in the middle of the room, not having moved since I arrived.

“I didn’t say goodbye to her,” he realizes, his glassy eyes looking to me.

“Nor did I,” I admit. “Nero got her; she died alone.” Alone is generous; she died with Nero, which is worse than alone.

“Her body?” Narayan questions gently. “Did you already return it?”

I shake my head, fishing out some parchment. “Nero took it. After I write this letter, I’m going to kill him.”

Ezekiel awakens at that, striding to the desk. “I’m coming with you.”

“No.” I don’t elaborate, waving a hand at both of them to leave. Narayan, ever dutiful, obeys, vanishing into the nearest shadow. But Ezekiel, stubborn as he is, takes the newly vacated seat.

“Ezekiel,” I warn lowly, claws digging into the wood of the desk.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he declares, folding his arms across his chest. “You wouldn’t if the tables were turned.”

He may be right, but I’d prefer to be alone for what is to come. Fae aren’t capable of bonding mortals—until recently, I wasn’t aware anything was capable of bonding a mortal. But the demon part of me rewrote the book, setting his eyes on what we could not have.

What we have now lost. No, the bond was not complete, so I won’t lose my soul over this, even if it feels as though someone cut out my heart. But the demon in me needs to mourn still, and demons mourn the same way they live. Viciously.

Preferably, I’ll be able to channel such energy into removing Nero’s heart. You know the saying: an eye for an eye, a heart for a heart.

My fingers trace over the scars of my chest, the memory of the day he attempted to do the very same to me playing in my mind. The pain that cuts through me now has me feeling as though he’s tried to tear my heart from my chest yet again, and this time he succeeded.

I said back then, even after barely surviving his attack, I’d never do the same to him.

That was before he took Azariah from me, though.

Narvaz, she was stubborn, violent, and she had the nerve to repeatedly lie to me no matter how many times I called her out on it. But beyond that, she was fierce. She was cunning. She was mine.

“The demon in me has to mourn,” I bite out, dipping a quill into the ink pot.

“So does the Fae,” Ezekiel argues, reaching out to stay my hand. “The demon isn’t the only one that cared for her.”

I push his hand away, beginning the letter. There’s really no way to tell someone their daughter has died. That their hope and future is gone. That they’ll never really know what happened to her, never have her mortal form returned.

But I try anyway.

With the letter finished, I seal it and send it on its way. I doubt I will ever hear a response unless they view running me through with their sword a response.

I rise, about to head into the shadows, when Ezekiel stops me.

“You know Nero will be ready, Naz.” His icy blue eyes beg me. “He will have the upper hand, and in your rage, he might get the drop on you.”

Žydrūnas chuffs in the corner, his agreement clear. “If you die, so do I. If that is to be the case, at least allow me to fly down and fight by your side.”

That would take days, I respond across the mental bridge. I intend to kill him now.

But what might he do in those few days? He took Azariah for a reason, and he shouldn’t get to take anything from her, use her for anything—dead or alive.

Ezekiel trades a glance between the manticore and me. “Is he agreeing with me?”

“No,” I answer, continuing my path to the nearest shadow. “He wishes to come with me, but I refuse to wait. Convene the war council. I’ll be back soon.”