TV.”
Yet another thing they didn’t have in common. “Naturally, you choose pointless pastimes.”
“I did so much reading in my first couple of centuries—when I was in hiding from Vrekeners—that I figure I can skate a little now.”
“I marvel that you had time for anything other than your conquests.”
“So I’m a TV-watching harlot who deserves to be judged?” She gave a disheartened sigh. “Thronos, you have to know that I’ll never be what you need me to be.”
He scanned the ground for movement within the stands of trees. “I was told this long ago. I also heard that I’d never survive the injuries I sustained. Then they said I’d never fly again. Yet I did, and I do. Once I get you to my home, you will become what I need.”
“I like myself!” she cried. “Did you never consider becoming what I need, Thronos?”
“I’m confused about your preferences. Should I emulate a drunken fey? Or a slick-tongued sorcerer who beds anything that moves?” Or maybe she preferred them like her first: a leech.
Don’t think of that memory. . . . “In the Skye, I will make you understand the value of loyalty, honesty, and fidelity to a single male.”
“You just confirmed what we’ve always heard: that Vrekeners kidnap and brainwash bold, independent Sorceri females, turning them into blank-eyed slaves to their men.”
“It isn’t like that! Sorceri young are happy among us, accepted as our own.” As soon as they were disempowered.
“Uh-huh,” she said. He was beginning to recognize that was her way of indicating untruth. “They’re trapped in a dismal floating realm filled with grim, self-righteous killjoys. They are in our version of hell. ”
“Since you’ll soon see the truth of my words for yourself, there’s no sense in arguing about it.”
“Because you’re taking me to Skye Hell? You think I’ll be happy among you? Accepted as your own?”
“I said other Sorceri were,” he pointed out. “Not you. You don’t deserve happiness. You deserve the full force of my revenge.”
“Revenge? After that night in the abbey, I never tried to hurt you, Thronos. I’ve just lived my life. I wish to all the gods that you could learn to live yours without your bitterest necessity. ”
His rage had been so intense the night before, he only vaguely remembered calling her that. But he couldn’t regret it. Considering his still-seething wrath, his words could have come out much worse. His actions as well.
As he soared over one mountain peak, heading for another, his gaze shot downward.
Fire demons had gathered in wait. For him, their enemy. Their hands were aglow, filled with flames.
They attacked, streams of fire burning through the fog and rain. Thronos’s wings had been swooping, gaining altitude; at once he brought them closer, arcing his body down, gathering speed to elude their strike.
Against his chest, she cried, “Don’t drop me, Vrekener!”
If he could dive down behind the mountain ahead . . . He picked up speed. Almost there—
A trap. They’d driven him into a broadside from another waiting group. Fire began to crisscross in all directions, flames zooming through the air toward them. A kill zone.
There was nowhere to fly, trails of fire showering all around him.
Impact. A sphere of flames, large as a cannonball, struck him in the wing. Like a hammer of the gods, it sent him reeling into another group’s volley.
His wings were fireproof, but the flames clung to his scales, as if he’d been doused with oil.
“Thronos!” Melanthe screamed in pain. The fire was wrapping around him to lap at her. “My legs!”
When he smelled her seared skin, he had no choice but to separate her from the fire. He did all he could; he wrapped his wings around her body, covering her as he dove evasively. The speed might help him shed the flames.
No way to stop his descent. The base of a mountain rushed closer, fringed with jagged boulders. His mate screamed again, this time
Yet another thing they didn’t have in common. “Naturally, you choose pointless pastimes.”
“I did so much reading in my first couple of centuries—when I was in hiding from Vrekeners—that I figure I can skate a little now.”
“I marvel that you had time for anything other than your conquests.”
“So I’m a TV-watching harlot who deserves to be judged?” She gave a disheartened sigh. “Thronos, you have to know that I’ll never be what you need me to be.”
He scanned the ground for movement within the stands of trees. “I was told this long ago. I also heard that I’d never survive the injuries I sustained. Then they said I’d never fly again. Yet I did, and I do. Once I get you to my home, you will become what I need.”
“I like myself!” she cried. “Did you never consider becoming what I need, Thronos?”
“I’m confused about your preferences. Should I emulate a drunken fey? Or a slick-tongued sorcerer who beds anything that moves?” Or maybe she preferred them like her first: a leech.
Don’t think of that memory. . . . “In the Skye, I will make you understand the value of loyalty, honesty, and fidelity to a single male.”
“You just confirmed what we’ve always heard: that Vrekeners kidnap and brainwash bold, independent Sorceri females, turning them into blank-eyed slaves to their men.”
“It isn’t like that! Sorceri young are happy among us, accepted as our own.” As soon as they were disempowered.
“Uh-huh,” she said. He was beginning to recognize that was her way of indicating untruth. “They’re trapped in a dismal floating realm filled with grim, self-righteous killjoys. They are in our version of hell. ”
“Since you’ll soon see the truth of my words for yourself, there’s no sense in arguing about it.”
“Because you’re taking me to Skye Hell? You think I’ll be happy among you? Accepted as your own?”
“I said other Sorceri were,” he pointed out. “Not you. You don’t deserve happiness. You deserve the full force of my revenge.”
“Revenge? After that night in the abbey, I never tried to hurt you, Thronos. I’ve just lived my life. I wish to all the gods that you could learn to live yours without your bitterest necessity. ”
His rage had been so intense the night before, he only vaguely remembered calling her that. But he couldn’t regret it. Considering his still-seething wrath, his words could have come out much worse. His actions as well.
As he soared over one mountain peak, heading for another, his gaze shot downward.
Fire demons had gathered in wait. For him, their enemy. Their hands were aglow, filled with flames.
They attacked, streams of fire burning through the fog and rain. Thronos’s wings had been swooping, gaining altitude; at once he brought them closer, arcing his body down, gathering speed to elude their strike.
Against his chest, she cried, “Don’t drop me, Vrekener!”
If he could dive down behind the mountain ahead . . . He picked up speed. Almost there—
A trap. They’d driven him into a broadside from another waiting group. Fire began to crisscross in all directions, flames zooming through the air toward them. A kill zone.
There was nowhere to fly, trails of fire showering all around him.
Impact. A sphere of flames, large as a cannonball, struck him in the wing. Like a hammer of the gods, it sent him reeling into another group’s volley.
His wings were fireproof, but the flames clung to his scales, as if he’d been doused with oil.
“Thronos!” Melanthe screamed in pain. The fire was wrapping around him to lap at her. “My legs!”
When he smelled her seared skin, he had no choice but to separate her from the fire. He did all he could; he wrapped his wings around her body, covering her as he dove evasively. The speed might help him shed the flames.
No way to stop his descent. The base of a mountain rushed closer, fringed with jagged boulders. His mate screamed again, this time
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