“He’s right,” Casteel said softly, his gaze searching mine. “I don’t know why Alastir would’ve lied about your mother being a Handmaiden. If he was telling the truth, your mother was never a Lady in Wait, destined to Ascend. That could also mean your father wasn’t a merchant’s son.” He paused. “It could also mean that only one—or neither of them—was your parent by blood.”
And if neither of them was? Then Ian…he may not be like me at all if he Ascended. He may be like any other vampry.
Leaning against the cold tile, I tipped my head back. I started to respond and then stopped as my toes curled against the floor. “I was young. My memories of before that night are spotty at best. I just know what I was told about them, and although Ian was older, it wouldn’t be like he knew any differently.” I shook my head, overwhelmed. “But I look like my mother, so maybe my father was an Atlantian, and my mother a mortal descendant of Malec and his mistress. Would that explain my abilities being so strong?”
“That would be one hell of a coincidence,” Kieran noted, and he was right.
Casteel and Kieran exchanged a look. “I don’t know,” Casteel answered. “That’s a complicated bloodline to sort through, but that’s also working off the assumption that you are related to Malec. You may not be. Alastir could be wrong, even if he truly believed that.”
I wondered if his mother would know somehow. Casteel’s gaze met mine. “We’ll figure this out.”
Other than his mother, as unlikely as that may be, only one other person may know.
Queen Ileana.
Casteel turned to Kieran. “I think there’s an old robe in there. Can you grab it for me?”
Kieran handed him a long piece of black clothing as he said, “There’s something I need to do real quick. I’ll be right back.”
Watching me, Casteel nodded curtly as he hung the robe from a hook by the door. “We’ll be here.” He waited until Kieran disappeared. “Let’s get you out of that shirt so I can burn it.”
A wry grin tugged at my lips. “I guess this shirt isn’t salvageable?” “Unlikely.” He came to me, curling his fingers around the hem. “You
know the drill.” I did.
I lifted my arms. “I think you like taking my clothes off.”
“I do.” Casteel tugged the shirt up and over my head. Cool air washed over all the newly exposed skin. He dropped the tunic to the floor as he stared down at me, his lips parting just enough that I could see a hint of his fangs as his gaze swept over me in a slow, lingering perusal. Muscles tightened low in my stomach. He placed his hand on the side of my ribs and under my breast. The contact sent a sharp pulse through me. His other hand did the same on the other side of my body. “However, I do not like undressing you, only to cover you immediately.”
I looked down, my toes curling even more against the tile floor at what I saw beyond the puckered, rosy-pink tips of my breasts. His golden-bronze skin was such a striking contrast to mine, and his hands were so large and strong.
“What Kieran asked of you tonight? Don’t hold it against him. He cares for you. And his concern?” he said. “I have to fight my instincts when it comes to you rushing out there to battle everything and anything, too. It’s not because I don’t think you’re capable. It’s just that I fear losing you.” He lowered his head, and his warm breath coasted over my chest and to the swell of a breast. “But your need to defend yourself is greater than my fear. That’s the only reason I don’t stop you. It will be the same for Kieran.”
“I know—” I gasped as his mouth closed over my breast. My eyes widened as I stared down at the dark, damp curls of his hair. His tongue swirled over my nipple, eliciting another strangled sound from me. He looked up at me, eyes burning as he arched a brow, waiting for me to continue. “I…I won’t hold it against Kieran.”
A brief, pleased smile crossed his face, and then he caught the sensitive skin between the edges of his teeth and then his lips. “You know what helps me get over my fear?”
I shook my head.
“This.” The pink tip of his tongue flicked over the throbbing, tightened skin. “This helps. So does your bravery, and you know what else? I get to reward you for your bravery.”
My pulse had already been pounding, but now it thundered through me. “I…I get a reward?”
“You do, but I also get a reward for looking past my fear,” he said, his thick lashes lifting once more. Gold churned restlessly in his eyes. “It’s a good thing this reward will be mutually beneficial.”
“It will be?”
He nodded, and then his mouth closed over my breast again. I felt the wet slide of his tongue and then the wicked scrape of his fangs. My breath caught at the forbidden sensation, and then he struck, sinking his sharp teeth into the flesh above my nipple. I cried out, threading my hands into his hair as my entire body jerked. The razor-sharp pain was intense, shooting through my entire body. There was a second where I wanted to pull away when the pleasure-pain was almost too much, but it was gone in a heartbeat. He sealed his lips over the tingling skin of my breast and sucked deep, drawing the sensitive peak into his mouth, taking my blood into himself.
A fire erupted inside me, heating my blood and every part of my body. My head spun, and I shuddered as his growl rumbled against my skin. I held onto his hair, shamelessly holding him there as damp heat flooded my entire being. An aching spike of pleasure darted through me. My hips twitched as he tugged at my skin.
“Cas,” I breathed.
He made that sound again, that sensual, rough sound, and then he moved, pressing my back against the wall, the hard line of his thigh between my legs. I gasped at the contact of the cold tile against my bare skin and the feel of his breeches-clad thigh against my core. He dropped a hand to my hip, and as he pulled harder on my breast, he tugged my hip down and forward, rocking me against his leg. Tense, tight waves of pleasure rippled out from between my thighs and from my breasts as I stood on tiptoe, my weight mostly supported by him. The drag and pull of his mouth on my breast seemed to be connected to the intense throb at my core. My hips moved against his thigh. There was nothing slow about it. I rocked hard against him, driven by the dual sensations of him feeding from my breast and the soft friction of his leg against my swollen, tightened flesh.
Tension curled and whirled, spinning tighter and faster. He feasted, and I became frenzied, tugging at his hair, sinking my nails into his skin. My legs clamped down on his thigh, and all the tension inside me erupted, lashing through me in the most delicious and stunning way. I shook, calling out his name as my release rolled through me.
I was still trembling, twitching when his tongue soothed over his bite, and he straightened, holding me tightly against his chest. His mouth closed over mine in a slow, languid, iron-rich, and musky kiss. The taste of my blood on his lips sent another wave of pleasure through me.
“You,” he drawled, his voice thick. “You really liked that reward.”
My forehead rested against his as I struggled to gain control of my breathing. “A little.”
“A little?” His laugh was like smoke. “You came so hard, I could feel you through my pants.”
“Oh, my gods.” I choked on a laugh. “That is so…”
“What?” His lips dragged across mine. “Inappropriate?” “Yes.”
“But it’s true.” He kissed me as he eased me to my feet. “You can stand? Or have I blown your mind and your muscles?”
“Your ego is ridiculous. I can stand.” Barely. “And in case you’re wondering, I would like more of those rewards, please and thank you.”
A devastating smile appeared, and those two dimples winked to life. “Although I love hearing the word please spill from your lips, you never have to say it.”
I grinned as he pulled away. While he turned to grab the robe, I glanced down. My cheeks heated at the sight of the two reddish-pink puncture wounds and the swollen skin around them. Goodness. The mark he left behind was indecent.
I loved it.
He held the robe for me, and I turned, slipping my arms through the sleeves. The material was unbelievably soft and yet lightweight enough that I didn’t think I’d grow heated. The length was a little long, completely hiding my toes, but it smelled like him—like pine and spice.
He stepped in front of me, quickly buttoning the two sides and then tightening the sash. “This looks far better on you than it ever did on me.”
“I can’t even picture you wearing this.” I looked at the long, flowing sleeves and flapped my arms.
“I’d rather be naked.” He winked when I raised a brow. “I’d rather you were naked, too.”
“Shocker,” I murmured.
While Casteel went to the wardrobe to pull out fresh clothing, I quickly wrangled my hair into a braid. The pleasant haze of his wicked reward sadly faded by the time I sat on the couch in the living area and Kieran returned, a large book in his hands and his father with him.
Jasper’s piercing gaze found mine, and he started to lower. I stiffened, but he seemed to stop himself before bowing. The curse he muttered garnered a small grin from me. “You are well?” he asked.
I nodded. “I am. You?”
“Peachy,” he muttered, dropping into one of the chairs. “Where is—?” “Right here.” Casteel sauntered into the room as he dragged a hand
over his head, brushing the still-damp strands off his face. He went to a credenza against the wall. “Drink?” he offered. Only Jasper nodded. Casteel poured two glasses as Kieran sat beside me. “So, the Unseen…?”
“Yeah,” Jasper growled. “That was the first I’d heard there might be a chance they were involved, which irritates the piss out of me. No offense to your father,” he tacked on halfheartedly. “But that is something he should have clued me in on, even if it had nothing to do with her.”
“Agreed,” Casteel muttered as he glanced over at Kieran. “Does this book you brought with you hold the answers to why my father kept that so quiet?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Kieran cracked the thick book open. “Those things that were outside? I figured you had a lot of questions about them.”
“Who wouldn’t?” Casteel responded, handing Jasper a glass. “If that was the first time they saw one of them?”
“Exactly.” I watched Kieran flip through the pages.
“Well, I figured it was best that I grab this,” Kieran said. “It’s an old textbook, centering around the history of Atlantia—the gods and their children.”
“Oh.” I leaned over, my interest more than piqued, but the moment I saw one of the pages, I sighed. “It’s in a different language.”
“It’s in old Atlantian—the Primal language of the gods.” Casteel sat on the arm of the settee. “I can barely read that now.”
Jasper snorted. “Not surprised to hear that.”
One side of Casteel’s lips tipped up as he took a drink. “I’m hoping this book you kept for some reason tells us exactly how the Gyrms were here, in our realm, and why they were after Poppy.”
Our realm? Why did that sound familiar to me?
“He kept all of his old schoolbooks,” Jasper explained. “Well, his mother did. They’re in one of the rooms in the back.”
I had yet to meet Kirha and really hoped I got to soon. I wanted to thank her for the clothing. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine.” Jasper smiled, and the rough lines of his face softened. “Slept through the whole damn thing.”
My brows rose. “Really?”
He nodded. “She’s always been a heavy sleeper, but with the babe on the way, she could sleep through the gods waking.”
“Here it is,” Kieran announced, lowering the book to his knees as he looked over at Casteel. “Did you see them without the mask?”
“That I did,” he drawled. “At first, I thought my vision had gone out on me, and then I heard my father say something like, ‘What the fuck?’ and I knew it wasn’t just me.”
I got momentarily distracted by picturing the tall and ominous figure that was his father saying that. Kieran tapped on the page, and I looked down, my stomach hollowing as I saw an ink sketch of one of the creatures we’d seen outside. It was extremely realistic—the head, the thin slits for eyes, and then nothing but smooth skin. Then again, there wasn’t much for this artist to capture beyond a male body’s general, well-muscled shape.
“How do they breathe?” I asked again because that seemed like a fairly important question.
Casteel’s lips twitched as Kieran’s eyes closed. “If it was a Gyrm?” Jasper spoke, rising from the chair to look down at the drawing. “They don’t need to breathe because they are not alive.”
Confusion drew my brows together. “How is that possible? How can something walk around and interact with people and not be alive?”
“One could ask the same question about the Craven,” Casteel said. “They react to those around them. They have mouths, and their bodies go through the motions of breathing. They hunger.” He lowered his glass to his knee. “But do you think they live? Truly?”
I didn’t need to think about that. “No,” I said, looking back at the sketch. “Not once they turn. They’re no longer alive. Nothing remains that
makes them mortal, at least.”
And that was sad because all of them had been mortal at one time— people who had lives and were someone’s daughter or son, friend or lover
—before the Ascended ripped everything away from them.
My hands curled into the soft material of the robe. The number of lives the Ascended had destroyed was utterly incalculable. They could’ve done that to Ian and to Tawny, devastating everything that made them who they were.
The Ascended had to be stopped.
“The difference here is that the Gyrms were never alive in the first place,” Kieran explained, running a finger along sentences that looked like nothing more than scribbles on an ivory page to me. “They were created from the soil of the gods and from the eather—from magic—and used to do the bidding of the one who summoned them. Created them. They have no thoughts, no will beyond why they were summoned.”
I blinked once and then twice. “They were created from dirt and magic? Seriously?”
Jasper nodded as he started pacing. “I know it sounds like something made up to scare children—”
“Like the lamaea?” I asked.
He stopped and looked at me, glass halfway to his mouth as Casteel coughed out a quiet laugh. His pale eyes shot to the Prince. “I don’t even need to ask which one of you told her about that. Out of the things you could’ve shared with her, you chose that?”
“It was a passing comment in a wider, much more important conversation that she has somehow latched on to and never forgotten.” Casteel took a drink. “Not my fault.”
“How could I ever forget about a creature that has fins for legs and tails for arms?” I wondered out loud.
“The lamaea were never real. It was just a thing really twisted parents made up.” Kieran shot his father a pointed look. “But the Gyrms were, and they were usually summoned to serve as soldiers or guards—protectors of sacred places. It says here that they can be killed with any puncture wound. Apparently, it shatters the magic holding them together, so one doesn’t have to aim for the heart or the head.”
“Good to know,” I murmured.
Kieran continued scanning the page. “Once they’ve served their purpose, whatever holds the soil and magic used to conjure them—usually a vase or cloth of some sort—is destroyed by fire. Once nothing but ash remains, they disappear.”
“They’re just conjured into existence to do whatever someone needs, and then…poof, they’re gone?” My nose wrinkled. “That seems wrong and sad. And, yes, I get that they’re technically not alive. It still doesn’t feel right.”
“It’s not,” Casteel agreed, a muscle working in his jaw. “It’s why that kind of magic is forbidden by Atlantians and mortals alike in this realm.”
There was that word again. It tugged at the memories of my time in the crypts with Jansen. “When you say ‘realm,’ what are you talking about?”
“The Lands of the Gods, that realm,” Casteel answered as his hand wandered to my upper back and slid under my braid. “It’s called Iliseeum.”
“Iliseeum?” My breath caught as what Jansen had said finally came back to me. “Jansen mentioned a place called Iliseeum—and a place called the Shadowlands. I thought he was making stuff up.” I glanced around the room. “Both are real?”
“They are.” Casteel reached over, straightening the collar on the robe. “Iliseeum is the Lands of the Gods. The Shadowlands are where the Abyss is located and how the Vale is accessed.”
“He also…he also said that Nyktos was known as…the Asher? He said he was called the One who is Blessed, the Bringer of Death, and the Guardian of Souls,” I said, frowning. “And he said that Nyktos ruled over the Land of the Dead and that he was the Primal God of Common Men and Endings.”
“Technically, Nyktos is those things,” Jasper answered. “As the God of Life and Death, he rules both the Shadowlands and the realms of the living, but he is not the God of Common Men. And I never heard of him being referred to as the Asher or the One who is Blessed.” He looked over at me, brimming with curiosity. “Although, weren’t you called that? Blessed?”
I nodded.
“Interesting,” he murmured. “I think Jansen told some truths and then made things up to sound more knowledgeable and important, just like the Unseen were often known to do.”
My brow rose. Jansen did have an inflated sense of self-worth. “But how have I never heard of Iliseeum until now?”
“I bet there’s a lot you haven’t heard of.” Jasper took a drink. “Did you know that Nyktos has a Consort?”
“He does?” I stared at the older wolven.
Kieran looked at me. “How do you think he had offspring?”
“First off, he could have multiple special people in his life,” I pointed out. “But most importantly, he’s the God of Life. Couldn’t he just create his children?”
“He probably could.” Casteel tugged lightly on my braid. “But he didn’t create his children like that. He and his Consort did it the old- fashioned way.”
“What is her name?” I asked. “And why is this the first time I’m even hearing about her?”
“No one knows her name,” he answered. “She has only ever been known as the Consort.”
“Well, that sounds…sexist,” I muttered.
“Can’t disagree with that,” Casteel replied. “And to answer your other question, no one knows why the Ascended decided to erase some of these bigger details from their history.”
“Maybe they didn’t know,” Jasper pointed out. “Only the oldest of the Ascended, those first turned, would’ve known the real history of our lands and peoples. And most, if not all of them, were killed before the war.” Queen Eloana had ordered that—the execution of all vamprys once they became too numerous and too blood-hungry to control. “It was the later ones, those turned by the Atlantians and who traveled farther east that fought back so strongly.”
“Godly magic can be found here, right? Like the eather in the bones of the deities,” I said, and a hot pulse of anger radiated from Casteel.
“Not just in the bones of a deity, but also in the blood of a god.” Jasper stopped pacing, coming to stand near the terrace doors of the living area. He took a deep drink, finishing off the whiskey. “Of course, it’s easier to visit a crypt and remove the bones of the deities than to attempt to get one’s hands on the blood of a god.”
I shuddered at the thought of how disruptive that act would be to the dead. It wasn’t something I had really considered while in the crypts.
Casteel’s fingers continued moving along the back of my neck, working out the knots in the tight muscles there. “What I don’t understand, though, is how anyone would get soil from Iliseeum. How would they know
where it was located and how to get there?” Casteel stated. “Especially when only those with godly blood can travel between the realms.”
“That’s not exactly true,” Jasper said.
Casteel’s and Kieran’s heads jerked in his direction. “Come again?” his son said.
“Iliseeum doesn’t exist in a realm that only the gods can enter,” he said, setting his empty glass on the table by the doors. “And a few do know where Iliseeum is.” He looked at the Prince. “What do you think exists beyond the Mountains of Nyktos?”
Casteel’s hand stilled on my neck. “There’s nothing but mountains and land unsuitable for building or supporting life.”
“For thousands of years, that was repeated over and over until it simply became something known and never questioned. But it was a lie to sway those who were too curious,” Jasper responded. “Iliseeum lies beyond the Mountains of Nyktos.”
