Between the Moon and Her Night (Between Life and Death #3)

Chapter 10

Von

M y answer came in the form of a glint of azure and an onslaught of pain.

Her daggers, much like ice in structure but not temperature, hit their mark, two of them embedding in my torso, while the rest flew past me. One lodged in my chest, the other in my stomach.

And then she was gone.

“Fuck,” I grimaced as I leaned against the brick building, using it to stabilize me. I wrapped my hand around the handle of the dagger that had punched its way into my left pectoral and pulled it out, the veins in my neck threatening to burst out of my skin. I moved on to the one in my stomach. The muscles in my forearms flexed as I extracted the blade, the wound squelching, as if it didn’t want to give up the dagger—something that was of her.

I inspected the small weapons, lacquered in my blood. The last time I had seen one . . .

I was transported back to that day when I had stolen her from the battlefield, when she had driven her sword straight into my stomach. The ice in her eyes as she did it, my beautiful, lovely creature. In that moment, without realizing it, she had condemned us both for eternity.

For that was the day when everything changed.

“Fucking bitch,” Nicholas’s pained tone growled from behind me.

“Hold still, brother,” Malachai demanded. “Let me help you.”

I glanced over my shoulder, just in time to see Nicholas, who had been knocked flat on his ass, shove his brother’s proffered hand away. His bow laid on the ground beside him.

“Piss off. I’ll do it myself,” he grated as he grabbed hold of the dagger and tore it out of his leg, roaring as he did. The weapon clattered when it struck the cobblestones. Chest heaving, his dark-gold eyes flicked upwards, looking to my seeping wounds and then to the daggers I still held in my hand.

Malachai followed his brother’s gaze, his brows hooking together as he, too, tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

Understanding lifted Nicholas’s contorted features, and he burst out laughing.

Fuck.

“You’ve been holding out on us.” His mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. “Brother, how many times have we faced the Blood King in battle, only to find out that he does not bleed?”

“Too many to count,” Malachai confirmed, crossing his arms over his chest .

My shadows swirled around the daggers, swallowing them whole. Abdomen contracting, I pressed off the wall, masking my pain with a flat expression.

“And now the Blood King bleeds before our very eyes,” Nicholas stated, his immortal flesh slowly beginning to stitch his injury back together, unlike my wounds, which were healing much slower than usual—all because of her. He rose from the ground, brushing back the tendrils of hair that had fallen over his forehead. A dark chuckle rolled out of him. “What do you make of it, Malachai?”

Malachai tilted his head to the side, assessing. Then, he said to me, “There is something I could never understand. You waged a war that lasted years to get your lands back from my brother, the king. You were so close to winning, to reclaiming all your kingship. But then you traded my brother’s freedom, and the Immortal and Living Realms, in exchange for her. Now—” he glanced at the injury in my chest, “—I understand why you did it.” His eyes shifted back to mine, conveying he knew more than he had said.

He knew what she was to me.

Nicholas cut in. “She is your weakness. The one and only thing that can end your immortal life.”

Ah, yes, she was that too.

And so much more.

I looked at Malachai, expecting him to divulge what else he had just learned, but for some reason, he didn’t. For that, I was grateful.

“I believe the Goddess of Life’s worth just grew to an exorbitant amount,” Nicholas said with a malicious grin.

A muscle kicked in my jaw .

The thought of what he might do to Aurelia, just to use her against me . . . my dark power rumbled protectively beneath my skin—for her sake, not mine.

Nicholas continued, “Can you imagine what our brother will do when he finds out that his wife is the very thing that can kill his greatest enemy?”

Wife . That one little word that Nicholas used to link her to Aurelius grated on my nerves.

But I was too old to let him win at my game of fuckery, for I was the master of it.

I saddled a grin on my lips and said with a chuckle, “Funny, when she was here a few moments ago, I didn’t see a wedding ring on her finger. Did you?” I gestured behind me, to where she had been standing before.

They exchanged confused looks.

My lips flattened. “Tell me, did you do anything to help her when Aurelius broke her finger? Oh . . .” I dragged out the word. “That’s right, you did nothing.” Nicholas opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “I have one question for you. Do you smell anything with this?” I tapped my nose. “Or has it been wedged up Aurelius’s ass for too long?”

“You bastard.” Nicholas’s temper flared as his hand whipped out to the side. Like a magnet, his bow shot into his palm, he nocked it with an arrow, and took aim. All of it was done in the blink of an eye. He had speed on his side—but that was about the only thing he had going for him.

“Go ahead,” I said, letting a hint of my lethal power brim to the surface, giving them a taste of the dark beast that lingered beneath the confines of my tattooed skin. “We’ll see who is left standing afterwards. ”

“Brother,” Malachai warned between clenched teeth. “Lower your weapon.”

Nicholas sneered. Then, like the good pup he was, he did as he was told.

“Ah, I see you understand basic commands,” I said. “You’re smarter than I thought.” My tone fell flat. I was growing disinterested in this little exchange. I handed my thoughts over to what did interest me—

Her.

Right now, she was under the impression that she could run from me, because I had allowed her to do so one too many times. All of this was my fault, because I believed that once push came to shove, she would choose a life with me over Aurelius.

But I had been . . . wrong.

The headstrong goddess didn’t choose either—she chose herself and fired a barrage of daggers at me in the process. I looked down at my stomach, at the freshly healed wound. Although the skin had mended itself, the tattered cloth and blood remained—serving as a reminder of what she was willing to do to escape me.

I couldn’t fault her for it, no more that I could fault a frightened animal for biting the hand that reached for it. It was a natural survival instinct. But now that Nicholas knew that she was my weakness, that changed things, which meant my hand was forced to do more than reach.