Resurrection (Book Three of the Soul Forge series)

Three weeks after the rushed flight to Mulvenny, Sypher finally climbed into his own bed. His wing throbbed like it had its own heartbeat, but it was getting stronger. Every muscle ached from constant dragon flights, running back and forth, fighting stray demons and helping refugees pack their things and leave their homes.

Two more villages went dark before they could be reached, and half the population of Heimdal was missing, but the rest had been evacuated and many more people had begun the journey to the nearest cities, seeking safety behind their high walls and heavy gates.

The kingdoms themselves had been alerted to the plague sweeping across Valerus, and units of soldiers from Valdren, Cenet and Eden were patrolling the roads in an effort to help the refugees travel safely.

Sypher sighed and sat up slowly, running a hand through his damp hair. His wing still felt like someone had tied a cannonball to it, but he could lift it with less pain. The fine bones were mended - the problem was the muscle severed by the Wraith. Strengthening it was taking a lot of time, and the possibility that it would never work properly again hung over him like a storm cloud.

“You look upset.” Elda emerged from the washroom in a white nightgown and bare feet, braiding her wet hair over her shoulder. “Are you worried about the undead, the monolith, or your wing?”

“Yes.”

“All of the above, got it.” She slipped into bed beside him, shuffling backwards until her shoulder blades touched the headboard. “Can I help?”

“Unless you can return my magic, no.”

“I can’t do that.” Her eyes strayed to the windows, where the trail of lights leading down the main road to the city gates could just be seen beyond the glass. “I can’t imagine how they must be feeling. They’re having to travel for miles, leaving their homes and everything they love behind, to share a home with a total stranger.”

“Better that than death,” Sypher replied.

“I have an idea. It doesn’t fix anything, but it might make the newcomers feel more at home and ease the tension our people are feeling. I don’t want to run it by my father without your backup though.”

He shifted to face her, his attention caught by her tone. “You’re going to be queen one day, El. You have as much right to make decisions as your father. With or without my approval.”

“But my father is still the King, and I really think this is important for everyone.”

He smiled, his malaise alleviated by the dimples in her cheeks. “Then I’m all ears.”

“I think we should have a festival to welcome the newcomers. Food paid for by the crown, games, stalls for the new traders to sell their wares. Dancing, music, perhaps even a performance for people to watch. We have the funds and the new traders need money. Our people will see the positive side of their arrival and everyone will get the chance to relax a little bit.”

Sypher cocked his head, the tips of his fingers rising to brush her cheek. “If your father refuses, he’s a fool. Of course I’ll support you. I think it’s an excellent idea.”

“We’d have to attend.”

“Naturally.”

“Without weapons and armour.”

“Can I hide daggers in my boots? You never know when one is needed.”

“Only one dagger,” she warned.

Sypher smiled. “Then you may dress me however you wish for the festival and parade me around wherever you want me to go.”

Her eyes sparkled. “You’ll really wear whatever I want you to?”

“As long as it’s not green.”

“Why do you hate green so much?” she

asked, chuckling.

“It washes me out. I already have white hair to contend with.”

“You could dye your hair.”

He shook his head. “The dye doesn’t stick. Vel tried to dye it green once to get on my nerves. It washed right out without a trace.”

It was hilarious until you washed it though, the demon snickered.

“It was not,” Sypher grumbled.

Elda grinned, realising he wasn’t answering her. “You’re supposed to be resting. Stop trying to goad Sypher.”

The Soul Forge let his aura shift so Vel could reply. “I can’t resist. It’s too much fun.”

“It’s mean.”

“We hated each other back then,” the demon shrugged. “I was caged. I had to get my fun from somewhere.” A slow smile lifted his cheeks, the fire in his one red eye brightening. “Now I have fun in other ways.”

“What other ways?” Elda asked, falling right into his trap. He chuckled and shifted so she was beneath him, caging her in with his arms and letting his wings fall on either side of her. “Oh, I see.” The words came out in a breathless whisper.

“You’re more fun than any practical joke, varro,” he murmured, and then his lips were on hers. Her hands reached up to knot in his hair, lips parting to deepen the kiss with a quiet sigh.

His aura shifted again, and he looked down at Elda through the eyes of the Angel and the demon. With her golden hair fanned against the pillow and her cheeks dusted pink, she was a goddess.

“I love all of you,” she breathed.

“I would crack the moon in two for you if it made you happy,” he whispered back. “You’re my heart.”

Elda stretched upwards to kiss him again, pushing his chest gently back until he was kneeling on the mattress. She reached back to unfasten the ties where his tunic was tailored around his wings, lifting it over his head to reveal the muscled expanse of his chest. Her fingertips traced the lines of his runes, feeling the bumps and contours of each aged battle scar.

Her lips found the sensitive spot beneath his ear and he sucked in a breath, goosebumps rippling his skin at her gentle touches. It still amazed him that his war wounds didn’t make her recoil. Instead, she trailed soft, fluttering kisses along a thin slash across his collar bone.

She pulled back and tugged the night gown over her head, tossing it aside and pressing herself against him, skin to skin. She smelled divine, like wildflowers and fresh snow. He reached up to tug her hasty braid loose, watching the damp waves cascade down her back.

“Perfect,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her again. She took his face in her hands, her tongue tracing his lower lip, followed quickly by the light nip of her teeth, just hard enough to make him groan.

Her hands made short work of the fastening on his trousers, and his pulse skittered unevenly when she dipped her head to taste him, his mind going blissfully blank. A breath hissed quietly between his clenched teeth, one hand resting lightly on the back of her head, the other clutching the bedsheet almost tightly enough to tear it.

Everything about her was divine, from the silken touch of her tongue to the soft, glossy waves of hair against his palm. She set the fire in him raging until it was almost too much, and then she pulled back, leaving him half delirious.

He watched her climb onto his lap, fitting herself flush against him with a heated, quiet moan. His hands traced the curve of her hips when she started to move, guiding her into a steady rhythm that made his breath stutter.

She buried her face in his neck, another moan rocking her. He was at her mercy, held captive by her scorching touch and sinful lips. Her hands tightened on his shoulders, the roll of her hips becoming urgent. The Soul Forge gripped her thighs, clinging to his sanity for dear life when her pleasure crested but didn’t break, rising and building in an endless cycle.

It felt like his body was trying to fall apart, pleasure curling tightly in the depths of his stomach. His muscles flexed and clenched, matching her thrusts until finally, finally, she let go. Her head tipped back, nails digging into his skin, and her cry of pleasure sent him tumbling after her.

“Fuck, El,” he groaned, planting kisses along her collar and the swell of her breast while stars exploded behind his closed eyelids. He was a planet tilted on its axis, his entire being thrown off course by the Angel sitting on his lap.

They stayed like that for a while, her relaxing against him to rest her head on his shoulder, him tracing lazy circles over the bare skin of her back. He felt her pulse slow, her breaths evening out into a more normal rhythm.

“We should sleep,” she mumbled eventually, sitting back to look at him. “Both of us are exhausted.”

“More so now,” the Soul Forge teased, winking at her. She arched an eyebrow at him, but a smile twitched at the corners of her kiss-swollen lips. He followed her, laying down beside her and pulling her in until her back touched his chest.

“How did you know the bodies were in Mulvenny?” she asked after a few minutes, snuggling deeper into his embrace.

“Malakai’s journal.” Vel retreated a little, letting Sypher respond alone. “He documented his research on the monolith, and thanks to Vel, I can read it. He deciphered the language written on the monolith and twisted it for his own purposes. Bratus and Mulvenny are the result of one of his experimental runes. What happened to us in Shade is the result of another.”

“He can manipulate ancient magic? How?”

“My brother was smart. The smartest of us, in fact. While I was out killing demons and protecting the settlements across Valerus, he was studying. He could make maps, he studied animal and plant life in detail, he had medicinal knowledge and he was accomplished at weilding the elements.” Sypher’s brows pulled together. “Malakai was Iliria’s prized scholar.”

“What happened to make him so…”

“Monstrous?” he finished when she trailed off. “The monolith happened. He touched it and it started to drive him mad. The more time he spent with it, the more it poisoned his mind.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yes, it is. He was a good brother in my first life, but too curious for his own good. He didn’t know when to quit, and in the end it destroyed him.”

“You don’t talk about it much.”

“It?”

“Malakai. Your previous life. Anything from before we met, actually.”

Sypher tightened his arm around her waist and pressed a soft kiss to the back of her neck. “Because it hurts. Rather than dwell on what I lost, I’d rather enjoy what I have now. I remember my family, I mourn them. But I don’t feel the need to talk about them when all it does is bring me pain.” He smiled, though it was sad. “Anything you want to know, you can ask and I’ll answer.”

“No.” She turned in his arms, brushing her lips against his cheekbone. “You’ve been hurt enough. I’m here if you need to talk about it, but I don’t want you to reopen old wounds if you’d prefer not to.”

“I appreciate that, maite.”

A few minutes of silence passed, but Elda’s eyes remained open, teeth worrying at her lip. “Are you sure the festival is a good idea?” she asked eventually. “What if the refugees get the wrong impression and assume we’re flaunting what we have?”

“They might do that if you were throwing a ball and asking to wear expensive dresses and gilded jewels t, but you’re not.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re arranging a funded festival to give the newcomers a warm meal and a night to forget about the hardships they’re enduring. You’re welcoming them, El. They will be pleased.”

“I hope so.”

Sypher kissed the top of her head, smiling when she cuddled into him with a small sigh. “I know so.”