Page 139 of Andreas

‘That a threat, shadows?’ Piercing cobalt eyes pierced him as the male turned, a wide twisted smirk stretching his gaunt, sickly features. The wry look pulled his already-tight skin thin, his frantic, vibrating stare fixed on Rymedur. The wet, jagged smile was one of pure insanity. ‘Or one of your promises?’

‘You clearly don’t know Areanel well enough. She has never needed anyone’s protection. But it will be fun watching as she makes you realise that fact.’

There was a pause. A single beat. Then… the twisted smirk grew impossibly large, and Rymedur’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach as realisation struck.

Shock and horror collided, tumultuous and wild, beating in his chest and mirroring the storm battering against the mountain outside. Rymedur swore he could hear the sound of blood-curdling screams growing closer as a sour, acidic scent weaved itself into the chamber. But all he could focus on were the figures floating in the vat and the ghost of a male who now inched towards him—a male who was supposed to be dead. A ghost.

A tingling sort of fog nipped his skin. Maybe he was the one going mad? The edges of his vision swam, crackling and blurring. Rymedur could see it now: the same raven hue in their hair; the bright ocean eyes that pierced into your very soul; the pulse of power that fell from him in crashing waves. But it was the insanity in his eyes.

Something short, sharp and sudden was drowned out by a ricocheting gasp.

How many times had Rymedur seen the same look on Aerileas’s face—a green-eyed monster, a kind of snaking madness?

Too many times to count.

‘Impossible!’

Bitter cold crept its way into Rymedur’s bones, freezing his muscles and locking them in place when those deep blue eyes sliced across the space and to the entrance where the soft, surprised exclamation had originated.

‘And what, exactly, do you find impossible?’ the male hissed around a hacking cough.

Lighting crackled behind the silhouette, like a halo of blue fire, charged and ready for battle. Areanel.

A thunderous roar shook the walls of the cavern, like the mountain itself trembled in her presence. Rymedur swayed where he knelt, paralysed with both relief and fear.

She was here. Not stripped naked in a cell. Not floating, lifeless in the tank.

She was here.

Rymedur’s weary gaze flickered to the female with inky hair who floated in the vat of greenish liquid. If Areanel were here, who was that?

A shadow darted in the corner of Rymedur’s eye, drawing his attention back to his wife. Something moved, swift and unseen, behind her dark silhouette. Ryyen?

The huff of breath Rymedur released was full of relief. He would not die here. Had he not already been kneeling, Rymedur would’ve fallen to them. His love had come.

He worshipped her. Rymedur had never been a religious man, but his love for Areanel felt divinely crafted. He was in awe of her; her strength and beauty were his undoing. She was his religion, and he would gladly fall to his knees and worship her. A goddess in her own right. If she were a sin, Rymedur would be content to accept damnation if it meant he was hers for the rest of his life. And his goddess—his little demon—had come for him.

‘Silas? You’re dead,’ Areanel seethed.

Emerald met azure, and the pain Rymedur had felt was nothing compared to the look that crossed Areanel’s face the moment she clocked the collar around his neck. Her teeth gritted, and her lips pulled back in a vicious snarl when her eyes finally met his.

‘On the contrary, darling sister…’

Green eyes darted between the siblings as Rymedur tried to wrap his head around what was happening. This was Prince Silas. Not Ivan. But hadn’t Areanel said he’d died, plagued by his illness?

Drag. Thunk. Step. Rymedur’s brows knitted together as his gaze flicked back to Areanel and saw the way she flinched.

‘You’ll find me quite alive.’

Rymedur watched her take a single step forward, further into the chamber. The dark fighting leathers she wore like a second skin were caked in blood. It covered her. Dripping from her temple like a bloodied crown, she looked like the God Andas, death itself.

Voice dropping, glacial and merciless, she stalked forward. ‘Then let me rephrase: you will be.’

Silas shuffled, one foot dragging along the cave floor. It was clear he had trouble moving, and his features pinched. He didn’t seem at all afraid of Areanel as he shifted away from Rymedur. One slender hand moved to his thigh, and his fingers pressed into muscle, as though he could squeeze the pain from his leg.

‘Were you impressed with the torture methods I used?’ Silas patted Rymedur’s head as he wobbled forward, but the mania in his gaze settled when he met Areanel’s. His speech stuttered, almost slurred, as he continued, ‘I used your own techniques: the stripping down. It humiliates your victim and places them in their most vulnerable state. The dark and quiet are my favourites; the psychological harm they have on detainees is always entertaining. Don’t you think, sissy?’

‘Stop.’ Her tone was clipped. It was hard to know what she was thinking with her mask perfectly in place, but Rymedur could see the subtle shift in her body—how her muscles tensed, and her nails dug into her palms. She had no love for this brother; she feared him. ‘Take that fucking collar off him!’