Yet knowing hadn’t made it any less unsettling. Especially considering the terrifying form her beast had taken. If children with dark magick inherited their Shadow Familiars from their parents, that meant hers came directly from the Shadeling himself.
“Give it time,” Stolas said, his soft command cutting through her fears. “Sometimes your familiar takes months to commit to its final shape. In the meantime we must work to draw it out slowly, let the bond between you strengthen.”
Despite his gentle tone, his mouth was tight. After Stolas had warned her of the possibility she might have a familiar, she’d teased him about his until she caught the suppressed pain in his eyes.
His simple explanation—that his was dormant—wasn’t the whole story, but she hadn’t pushed for more.
He would tell her when he was ready.
“So you’re saying there’s a chance I won’t have something living inside me that looks like the spawn of Lorrack and a demon?” she quipped, keeping her voice low in case it could hear her.
“I am saying, Beastie, that whatever creature your familiar decides to manifest, it will be a part of you and therefore exquisite.”
She swallowed, desperate for another subject. “The blockade?”
“We sank four ships, but the attack here called us back.”
Haven felt her shoulders sag as the realization took hold. “They were waiting for you to attack the ships. It was a ruse to draw you away from the island.”
As she said the words, icy fingers seemed to squeeze around her spine. It was like Archeron was one step ahead of them. He had the power and wealth of the mighty Sun Court behind him while they were a struggling nation of outcasts.
A nation that had nearly perished tonight. If the Death Raiders had broken through their defenses and entered the city . . .
Stolas brushed an errant strand of her hair behind her ear. “When was the last time you actually slept?”
“I’m fine.”
“Or ate for that matter?”
Her jaw flexed. “We’re all busy. Besides, I don’t recall seeing you scarfing down food in the meal hall.”
The strong column of his throat dipped, and too late, she remembered why. “I don’t require the same kind of sustenance as you.”
Kind. Right. Because he did require sustenance, just not mortal food.
When he was Lord of the Netherworld, he had a vast array of souls to feed from. But here . . . well she hadn’t built up the nerve yet to ask how he was satisfying those needs.
“I’ll eat afterward,” she promised, the lie hovering between them.
He arched an ash-colored brow, his eyes flashing as if he wanted to argue further, but then he simply said, “I thought Prince Bell ordered you safe and protected inside the north tower?”
“Ordered?” she scoffed, ignoring the way his teasing voice gathered low and hot in her belly. “I think you know better than anyone how well I respond to commands.”
His grin was devastating. “Indeed.” His attention slipped to her lips as he traced a finger over the fine edge of her jaw. “Just as your King Bell should know by now that you could never hide behind tower walls while innocents are being slaughtered.”
Her throat clenched. “How many?”
The planes of his face sharpened with controlled anger, and she wondered what it would be like to experience the unleashed version of that infinite rage. “We’ve found ten houses so far.”
Houses. Not people. He was trying to shield her from the details. Trying to make this easier for her.
But she didn’t want easy.
“How many?”
“Twenty-three.” The muscles beneath his temples trembled as he looked beyond her to the edge of the city, where people still hunkered behind their walls and the illusion of safety. “But there will be more.”
“Children?”
His throat bobbed. “Nine. Four of which came from one house. Only the father survived, but by the look in his face, I doubt he’ll live much long after.”
An ache formed beneath her sternum, guilt and shame and anger converging into a cold, hollow mass. “And the other city quadrants?”
The cities set into the mountains at the base of the palace were split into quadrants, each with its own watchtower and wards. If this one had been attacked, she assumed the others had as well.
“Nasira took out the portal near the southern tower. Bell and Xandrian handled the east. Surai and Ember the north.”
The fury-edged pain in his eyes made her look away. She didn’t dare ask how many casualties for the other quarters. She would learn soon enough when she visited the grieving families later today.
A bone-weary fatigue came over her. Each night brought new terrors. Each attack was worse than the last. The feeling of total failure threatened to overcome her.
Dragging the hair back from her forehead, she slid her gaze to the Asgardian raider where he slumped against the cliff’s base.
“What will you do with him?” Stolas asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he shifted his stare to the Asgardian. There was a tightening around Stolas’s mouth, a delicate flaring of his nostrils as he took in the wounded male’s scent.
A scent no doubt permeated with fear.
The silver of Stolas’s eyes darkened as the red glow began to throb, a soft growling purr vibrating his throat.
The fine hair at the nape of her neck lifted. If she had any doubt what the red color meant, the beastly growl dispelled them.
The night’s battle had left him with a deep, unrelenting hunger.
As soon as Stolas’s attention fell on the wounded male, fear tugged at his pain-wrenched face.
Haven stepped over the corpses of his brethren as she approached the male, whose eyes remained firmly on Stolas behind her.
“What would you do?” Haven asked the ravenous prince, never taking her eyes off the Asgardian. “Offer mercy?”
A dark chuckle. “As I recall, he rejected your mercy. Rather rudely.”
So Stolas had been watching.
“Please.” Blood trickled from the Death Raider’s lips as he begged. “It was nothing personal. I . . . I was only following orders.”
Haven stared down at him. Before Shadoria, before she carried the heavy burden of her lineage and the prophecy, she might have ordered him bandaged and healed. Might have tried again to stubbornly broker an alliance.
Before the deaths of her people, she might have even naïvely thought saving him would convince the realm she was good.
But her goodness wouldn’t keep her people safe. Only fear would do that.
If they were expecting the Shadeling’s daughter, she might as well play the part. “Was it personal when your raiders slaughtered the children sleeping in their beds?”
Fear sparked inside his eyes. “Those were . . .”
“A transaction?” Her fingers clenched and unclenched at her sides. “How much did you say he paid for each death again?”
His chest heaved with ragged breaths. “That wasn’t—”
“Personal?”
He blinked.
She looked to Stolas. Her protector. Her friend. And, yes, in every sense of the word, a monster. But she was starting to learn there were very different kinds of monsters.
Once, she would have shied away from his nature. From the hunger she recognized inside his eyes as he drank in the Asgardian. The spark of excitement similar to a cat watching a wounded bird.