All the Sacrifice of Shadows (Starstorm #2)

Chapter 36

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

D awn came early for someone who was never in need of sleep.

Or a god.

The early mornings in House Celestine were quiet, and Drake roamed the decadent halls where the floors glittered like the night sky and star-shaped lanterns glowing with faerie fire floated overhead, illuminating the walls of rich navy and gold. He passed under archways lined with gleaming selenite and stained glass windows depicting constellations of varying forms. Outside, the clouds were heavy and gray, as though the gloom of Brackroth had followed him to this place.

Creslyn was still asleep in bed, her warm and supple body buried beneath a thick layer of velvet. He’d stoked the fire in the hearth to ward off the autumn chill that had crept into the room, then set about wandering, knowing he would eventually make his way to the courtyard to train.

The previous night’s events continued to replay in his mind as he descended the staircase.

He supposed he would have to grow accustomed to family dinners with the Starstorms.

Between the constant chatter, the banter and bickering, it had been almost impossible to keep up with the flow of conversation. Though he had to commend the siblings in their efforts to remain aloof while keeping their mother in the dark about their scheming. Not once were there any moments of strained silence or caustic tension. They were cordial if not amusing, oftentimes teasing one another over some joke Drake did not understand.

It was a strange feeling, he realized, being absorbed into a family that loved each other so fiercely.

Save for their unpleasant mother.

Lady Trysta Starstorm was downright loathsome. Pompously snide, she was derisive in manner whenever she spoke to any one of her children. It almost made him wonder why she felt inclined to bear offspring at all. She was appalled by Creslyn’s hair, claiming it looked as though she’d soaked the strands in black ink.

It had taken every ounce of self-control for Drake to not reach across the table and throttle the damned female.

Not only that, but she seemed rather perturbed by his and Creslyn’s unannounced arrival. She excused herself from dinner quickly after barely eating anything at all, no doubt alerting the queen that they had traveled through the Veil without raising any kind of alarm.

The matriarch of House Celestine possessed many faults, yet Drake remained unsure of her loyalty to her family. Though she’d manipulated star readings for her own gain, in some cases outright lying about them, she had not done anything terribly malicious in nature. Nothing truly evil or sinister.

At least not to his knowledge.

Perhaps she was just a shitty mother.

“Ah, there you are, Your Highness.”

A male voice sounded from his right, and Drake turned to find Lord Asher Firebane walking toward him.

“Or god of shadow and prophecy.” Asher raised the cup of coffee he held in greeting. “I’ll be quite honest, I haven’t the slightest idea of how to address you.”

Drake inclined his head. “Drake will do.”

“Noted.” Asher ran a hand over his rumpled hair, the silver streak falling right back into his face. “I’ve already spoken with Ariesian, but I figured I would inform you as well.”

Drake’s brows rose.

“Novalise and I will be returning to Emberspire tomorrow. I need to fortify my house, while also protecting my wife, sister, and servants.”

“A solid plan.” Drake nodded, his thoughts drifting. House Celestine was safe for the most part, but at some point, he and Creslyn would require a home of their own. Preferably a place where he could ravish her without having the entirety of the house being made aware of their affairs. Maybe they could find somewhere in the city, or build a house in the mountains, closer to their dragons.

He quite liked the idea.

Asher’s voice pulled his attention, drawing him back to the conversation at hand. “Celestine will have our unwavering support in every endeavor.”

“Good.” He watched as a servant scurried past them carrying a tray of food. Mouthwatering scents of freshly baked rolls and crisp beef lingered in the hall. “They will have mine as well.”

Asher leaned around him, making sure the servant was well out of earshot. He stepped forward, lowering his voice. “Is it done?”

“It is done.” Drake glanced over his shoulder, his gaze skimming the double staircases, searching for any sign of eavesdropping. “The hag is dead. The virdis lepatite …destroyed.”

“I sense some hesitation.” Asher sipped his coffee, his face a mask of indifference.

“It is a long story, and one I do not wish to relive.” Drake rubbed his temples, remembering all he nearly lost. “But to put it mildly, that gem almost ruined me. Almost ruined everything.”

“I see. According to my research, it has been known to have quite the number of undesirable effects. Especially on those who resist its power.” Asher went to take another drink of coffee, but then his gray eyes widened, his back snapped straight, and he almost dropped the cup completely. “I beg your pardon. I hate to cut our conversation short, but if you’d excuse me, it would seem my wife requires my immediate attention.”

“Ah, yes.” Drake smirked. “The mating bond.”

Asher’s cheeks colored slightly, but he smiled in return. “See you around, shadow prince.”

Drake nodded once. “All in good time, fire fae.”

With that, Asher made haste to the bedchambers he shared with Novalise, and Drake found his way to the courtyard, his muscles longing to be put to work.

He expected to be alone for the duration of the morning but was genuinely surprised to discover his training space was already occupied by none other than Creslyn, her twin sister, and Kjeld.

Caelian stood toward the center of the courtyard in a simple dress of pale blue and silver lace, a fur cape fastened at the nape of her neck. Kjeld stood opposite her, dressed in his favored brown riding leathers, the ones that had seen more battles than Drake cared to admit. But it was Creslyn, always Creslyn, who drew his eye.

She was leaning against the stone wall outlying the courtyard, the corners of her mouth lifted in a barely there smile as she watched her twin face off with the general. Her skirts fell from her waist in waves of deep rose, covered with an overlay of gilded lace. The bodice was snug, hugging her in layers of gold, and the sleeves were long, dipping off her shoulders and flowing down to her wrists. Loose waves of black hair tumbled around her, completely unbound, the facets of color glinting despite the fact that the sun remained hidden behind a wall of clouds.

She was ethereal in every sense of the word.

And he longed for her.

“I still don’t see why I must begin with a wooden sword.” Caelian waved the carved weapon around, its sharp point just missing the side of Kjeld’s face. He swiftly ducked out of the way, and she gave it another bored twirl. “It looks like a child’s toy.”

“All warriors begin at the same level, then rise through the ranks,” Kjeld stated calmly, his patience never seeming to wane.

Caelian gazed up at him and fluttered her lashes. “Do you really think I can become a warrior?”

Drake’s general took a decisive step backward, away from the threat of a simpering smile.

“Your sister learned quickly. Perhaps it will be the same for you.” He tapped her wooden sword with one of his own. “Again.”

Caelian lunged forward, but her footing was all wrong. She twisted, tangled in her skirts, and tumbled to the ground.

Creslyn covered her mouth, disguising her laugh.

Kjeld made no move to help her up. “Or perhaps not.”

The lady scowled, and he knocked her sword once more.

“Again.”

Crisp autumn air drifted through the courtyard, carrying the scent of fresh rain and sweet citrus. Of Creslyn.

Drake’s gaze slid to the wall again, and she sauntered over, having caught sight of him watching their session. She flipped her sword with ease, as though she’d been born with it in her hand, and aimed its shining tip towards his heart.

“Fancy a wager, god of shadow and prophecy?”

His blood stirred, he enjoyed it immensely when she was feisty. “Are you challenging me, wife?”

“I am.” She tucked her sword behind her back and rose up on her toes, placing a kiss underneath his chin. Her warm breath fanned his throat and filled him with insatiable lust. “Afraid you’ll lose?”

He flashed her a vicious grin and nipped her bottom lip. “Not in the least.”

“Name your terms, whatever you want, you can have…but only if you win.” She arched her arm, her weapon slicing through the air, so the flat side of her blade landed with a resounding smack against her open palm. “Then I shall name my prize for when I win.”

“Very well.” A low, rumbling laugh escaped him, and he bent low, pressing his mouth to the tip of her pointed ear, so the words he spoke were only for her. “If I win, I want you. Naked and restrained by my shadows in your bed, so that I may do as I please to your body.”

She shivered and the bond heated, warming him.

Creslyn drew back, just slightly, one eyebrow raised in question. “For how long?”

“Until moonrise.”

Her gaze flicked to the overcast skies and her lips twitched. “Seems reasonable.”

“And your demand, solysa ?” he purred, enjoying the way goosebumps pebbled across her flesh.

“If I win…” She straightened, edging away from him, and her smile vanished. “I want your Shadowblade.”

Drake blinked, unsure he’d heard her correctly. But her words sank into him, chilling him to the bone. He shook his head. “No.”

“Yes.” She slapped her sword against her palm again, this time with more force. “If I win, the Shadowblade is mine.”

The weapon in question hummed to life in its sheath, sensing the tension, craving the possibility of spilled blood.

“Absolutely not.” He backed away from her, withdrawing. “It is far too dangerous for you to use.”

“It is cursed , Drake.” She advanced on him, refusing to yield. “You will give it to me so that I may destroy it. Once and for all.”

This time, he held his ground. Her eyes, those fearless orbs of damning sapphire, were nearly black. She was fierce. Dauntless. Rapture in the making. But she was also wrong.

“The blade is not cursed, nor am I.” Even as he spoke, there was a summons. A calling. His hand spasmed, fighting the compulsion that beckoned him. “It is a weapon of my choosing, and it belongs to me.”

“You are mistaken. Zaleria told me of its power before her death.” The wind grew colder, more violent, and Creslyn shoved her hair back, her gaze never once leaving his face. “She was the one who cursed it, and she did so because you refused her.”

Lies.

Drake staggered, putting space between them. He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe her. The Shadowblade was only dangerous when Marius inked a name in blood, binding Drake to assassinate any victim of his choosing. It was not cursed. It was a powerful, reliable weapon. It never missed, it always struck true. He had no intentions of giving it up or seeing it destroyed. Certainly not out of petty jealousy stemming from his wife.

Creslyn’s dislike and envy of Zaleria had been evident since their first introduction. Now she sought to punish him for something beyond his control—the misconstrued feelings of a witch.

Drake shook his head. “No, kearsta .”

“You think I’m lying?” She swung her sword in a slow circle, stepping closer. “Does it not call to you even now? Its coercion is one of bloodlust. The more you use it, the more it controls you.”

“Back away, Cres.”

“Never.”

She attacked him.

His fucking wife attacked him.

“Damn it, Creslyn!” He pulled his own sword hastily, blocking her assault, but not before the tip of her blade scored the leather armor covering his chest. She was stronger than he gave her credit for. What she lacked in height, she made up for in sheer force. “I did not agree to the terms.”

He lunged to one side, dodging her next strike. The clang of metal echoed through the courtyard, drawing the attention of Kjeld and Caelian. His general shifted forward, planting himself directly in front of Creslyn’s twin sister. Though a wide berth of space separated them, Drake stole another glance in Kjeld’s direction.

His brows were drawn, his stance taut and at the ready.

He knew the fight between them was serious.

“Fail or succeed,” Drake warned, shoving her backward as their weapons clashed. “I will not yield the Shadowblade to you.”

She huffed out a breath, kicking her skirts behind her as she gripped the hilt of her sword with both hands. “Then I shall be forced to take it from you.”

The angry heavens opened, and cold rain fell from the somber skies, the continuous drizzle soaking her gown. Raindrops clung to her lashes, sliding down her cheeks like tears. She lifted her sword, swiping the back of her hand across her forehead. Her pink lips parted, each breath she took filled the bond with fire. With determination. She flexed her fingers, stretching them out, then curling them back around the leather-wrapped hilt, her knuckles draining of color.

Her intent was clear.

“You’re making a mistake,” he warned.

Drake took one step back, planting his feet, his knees bending just slightly as he prepared for her next assault.

“No, Drake.” Beams of sunlight poured from her fingertips, wrapping her in ribbons of gold. “I am merely doing what must be done to free you.”

“We’re bound by blood, solysa .” At the mention of the word blood, the Shadowblade pulsed in its sheath, and he gripped his sword tighter. “You magic cannot harm me.”

“Maybe not.” Creslyn lifted one shoulder, then let it fall without care. “But my weapon can.”

She launched herself at him in the next moment.

Drake had expected her to aim high, but instead, she dove for him. The hilt of her sword slammed into his chest, and he gasped as all the air was pushed from his lungs. She charged for his abdomen, driving home another insufferable hit, using her momentum to knock him off his feet. His back collided with the stone courtyard, pain lancing from the base of his neck to his lower spine. He grimaced, gnashing his teeth together as blackened stars and murky sunlight danced across his vision. Creslyn’s weight settled upon him, her thighs spread across his waist, the cold, flat edge of her sword planted firmly against his neck.

His cock throbbed. Swelled and ached, completely undeterred by the weapon poised at his throat.

Creslyn straddling him with the intent to inflict harm was quite possibly one of the most provocative things he’d ever endured.

She leaned over him, beads of rainwater sluicing down her neck and breasts, dripping from the tips of her hair onto his face. He stared into her eyes, into those endless pools of damning sapphires framed by full, damp lashes. Her skin was flushed from exertion as currents of magic continued to ripple around her. She was devastating in every sense of the word. She wrecked him. Owned him.

The bond heated and tugged, pulling them together. It secured around their hearts, anchoring them to one another.

Her gaze slid from his mouth to his eyes, then back to his mouth again. She bent lower, applying just enough pressure to her weapon splayed across his throat that Drake had to fight back the urge to groan in approval. Her pink tongue darted out, sliding along his bottom lip, like she only wanted a single taste.

Fuck that.

Drake dropped his sword, didn’t care as it clattered loudly against the stone ground. He reached up, fisting both hands into her wet, silky hair, and dragged her mouth to his own.

She opened for him readily, their tongues meshing in a furious kiss as they sought to devour one another. A noise escaped her, a faint whimper that caused his cock to thicken even further. He swallowed the sound, wanting all of it. Every soft whisper and gentle moan, every breathless sigh and cry of his name. All of it, all of her, belonged to him.

He wanted to flip her over, to bury himself inside of her while Kjeld and Caelian watched.

And he would have done it, too.

If Creslyn hadn’t chosen that exact moment to reach for the Shadowblade.

The noise that tore from his chest was inhuman. Ungodly.

It did not belong to this world.

Creslyn scrambled off of him, her face contorted into one of pure horror as Drake pulled the blade from its sheath and aimed it straight for her heart.

Power overwhelmed him as the Shadowblade vibrated in his grasp, seeking death. Bloodlust blinded him with bitter rage, stealing into his veins. It was like a festering disease, a rot that plagued him, a dark magic beyond his command. He raised his arm, preparing to strike, and any restraint he had left was suffocated. His control slipped, his mind emptied, and he staggered forward, compelled by the call of the blade to spill blood.

The blade consumed him, its predatory nature knowing only death. His arms burned, struggled as the weapon urged him to strike.

In the far-off distance, a female cried out. Her panicked cry lanced through the air.

Drake lunged and Creslyn screamed.

The Shadowblade sang as it met flesh, sinking deep as he plunged it into a beating heart.

“No!” Caelian wailed, and Kjeld collapsed, his body dropping to the ground at Creslyn’s feet.

A final sacrifice.

Drake blinked as his vision blurred in and out of focus. A fist struck his jaw, snapping his head to the side, and the metallic tang of blood coated his tongue. He lurched to the right, tripping over his own feet, and then Creslyn was there. The expression on her face was unreadable, her eyes once again near black in color.

She wrenched the Shadowblade from his grasp, throwing it high into the air. The sunstorm whipped around her, a seething vortex of bright light and prismatic rainbows. Her magic shoved him backward, sent him stumbling away from her, from the blade. Beam after radiant beam were launched skyward in frenzied bolts, hissing through the rain in a trail of steam, thrashing the blade as it whined, plummeting back toward the earth.

Creslyn threw her arms out before her, and in one final burst of violent magic, thousands of shattered rainbows struck the Shadowblade down. Its midnight blade turned gray, splintering from tip to hilt, disintegrating into nothing more than a pile of chalky dust and decayed bones.

He stared at what was left, as clumps of ash dissolved into the rain, leaving behind plumes of smoke, filling the air with the rancid stench of sordid magic.

Slowly, Drake’s gaze fixated on where Creslyn and Caelian kneeled next to Kjeld’s unmoving body, where crimson pooled beneath him, mixing with puddles of rain, creating a small river of red.

Drake looked down at his hands, his throat closing tight as he whispered, “What have I done?”