Destined to the Reaper (The Shadow Realms #2)

Chapter 16

Kali

T he victorious shout vibrating in my chest died in my throat when a shining blade just appeared out of thin air, preventing Pharos from slaying the thrice damned son of a bitch who had made our lives a living hell. Before I could fully comprehend what had caused it, I immediately began casting an offensive spell to blast the intruder, only to freeze in complete and utter shock.

My jaw dropped as the Weaver, the divine Angel of Death Azrael himself, and the High Hell Lord Alderan appeared around the altar. Standing quite a few meters behind his father, near the edge of what remained of the circle, Haroth was staring at Cornelius with a savage grin that should have terrified me. My brain briefly registered that—this time—Haroth actually had proper flesh under his skin instead of his previous skeletal appearance. By rights, I shouldn’t have been able to guess the identity of the stunning male he was now embodying with a complexion the color of desert sand. But at a visceral level, I recognized him… felt him in my bones.

However, the scene unraveling before me reclaimed my attention.

“Father!” Pharos whispered in disbelief.

But his sire didn’t respond.

Saying he was stunning couldn’t begin to do him justice. He towered over his son by at least a good head, and his wings looked almost too massive for him to carry. And yet they hung gracefully and effortlessly, partially open behind him. They were pristine white, the same color as the skirt hanging from the golden belt around his waist. Like Pharos, he wore pauldrons, bracers, and an adorned belt, but his were of the shiniest gold encrusted with precious gems. A white hood, the same luxurious fabric as his skirt partially hid his face. Despite the shadow it cast, the white glow of his eyes illuminated his features enough for me to see the noble nose, full lips, and square jaw of my man’s sire. A few strands of black hair peeked around the edges of his hood.

At the same time he blocked Pharos’s scythe with his sword, Azrael flicked his right wrist, sending Cornelius flying back. The necromancer slammed his back hard against the wall located a couple of meters behind him. The air rushed out of him from the impact. He would have face-planted as gravity worked its magic. But Alderan closed his fist before him, turning it as if in a gesture to turn a key. Cornelius shrieked as the bones in his joints snapped open like grappling hooks, nailing him to the wall, arms and legs spread like the Vitruvian man.

I watched in complete shock as the Bone Demon Lord Alderan tore off four of the bone spikes protruding from his own forearms and threw them like daggers at Cornelius. Each one found its mark, perfectly embedding themselves one in each of his shoulders and the other two in the fleshy part of his thighs, providing further support so that he wouldn’t slide down the wall.

I swallowed hard, my eyes flicking towards the Weaver. Nine hells, she was terrifying. Not in a monstrous way, but because of the sheer power and rage exuding from her. When I first met her, I had thought how ageless she looked, although clearly an older female, despite her mostly smooth and flawless skin.

Right now, her age was even more undefinable. At a first glance, she looked barely twenty-five. Her slightly tanned skin seemed surrounded by a soft glow, as did her insanely long silver white hair. In her witch hut, her hair somewhat gave the impression it was that color due to the graying that came with age. Here, it was clearly just the pristine ivory of her unusual color and flowing loosely behind her, freed of the previous single braid it had been plaited into. Her normally purple eyes seemed filled with lightning as she all but bared her teeth at him. Gone was the long, medieval-looking golden dress with a thick fur collar she had worn in her cabin. Right now, she reminded me of the Goddess Athena in her dark leather short Roman skirt and leather breastplate.

“You… you can’t!” Cornelius cried out, his voice strained by the excruciating pain of being crucified against the wall. “The… the covenant—”

His words were abruptly cut short when Azrael made a grabbing gesture. My blood turned to ice as he quite literally tore Cornelius’s soul right out of his body. It looked like a luminous silhouette of the necromancer. To my shock, it withered, its light fading into dark smoke, and his soul appearing deflated and shriveled. It only took seconds, filled with the disembodied screams of Cornelius. With the same nonchalance, Azrael tossed the necromancer’s ‘soul’ back into his impaled corporal vessel.

Although Cornelius took a ragged breath as soon as he reintegrated his body, I could feel that there was no true life left in him. I couldn’t even describe what he had become. He was dead and yet not.

His eyes remaining locked on the necromancer with a mix of hatred and something else I couldn’t define, Pharos approached me. He blindly reached for my hand and drew me against him in a protective fashion.

“You can’t do this!” Cornelius shouted. “You cannot intervene in mortal affairs!”

“We absolutely can, you worm,” Cliona hissed, taking a few steps closer to the altar. “My Pharos ended your thread moments ago. Azrael merely ensured you’re no longer alive by human rules. Now, we get to play. You never should have harmed my children!”

“What?!” Cornelius sputtered, terror mixing with the pain wrecking him.

“You wanted to be immortal?” Azrael asked, his booming voice almost sounding like crackling Thunder. “I have granted you that wish. Nothing and no one can ever end your life… such as it is now. You also wanted endless regeneration. Consider that wish also granted. Trust me, you will regret ever coveting what wasn’t yours.”

With that, four-inch-long claws protruded out of Azrael’s fingertips before he stabbed them into the fool’s heart. My hair stood on end from the powerful blast of magic that radiated from the Angel. Cornelius emitted an ear-splitting scream as a red glow began to pulse in his chest.

As soon as Azrael yanked his hand out, Cliona pulled out a few strands of her hair and whipped them towards the necromancer. She released them, and they split into five-inch-long needles as they flew like a volley of arrows at her target.

“This is for my Asheron,” the Weaver said as the hair stabbed into his skin.

They immediately bent into hook shapes, pulling on the skin stretching it impossibly until it began to tear. But regeneration kicking in sent it into an endless loop.

“And this is for my Pharos,” she continued while tossing an additional few strands of hair.

These did not split but embedded themselves inside his body like worms digging their way in. A shudder coursed through me as I could see the strands circling slowly around inside him, piercing organs along the way like a snake looking for a way out. I didn’t need to alter my vision or invoke magic to know the regeneration was healing the damage right after it was caused.

This torture could last for eternity, and he would never die from it.

Not that he has any true life left that could be ended to grant him mercy.

Alderan came to stand in front of Cornelius. I had seen bone demons in various illustrations, including some of his. But nothing could have prepared me for how imposing and intimidating one of them would be in the flesh—one of the most powerful at that. Alderan was a Prince of Hell, the son of Astaroth, the Duke of Hell himself.

Well over seven feet tall, massive, broad-shouldered, and with muscles for days, Alderan was a beast of a male. Small bone scales were scattered all over his grayish skin. A few bone spikes—some rounded, others recurved—lined the sides of his arms. A long black skirt made it impossible to get a good glimpse of his legs. Six heavy horns sat on his head like a crown amidst the undisciplined wavy locks of his below-the-shoulder-length black hair. Bone ridges and scales adorned his forehead, and more small, rounded bone spikes lined the sides of his neck, growing high around the curve of his shoulders. I suspected that, in battle, they would extrude into vicious spikes that could inflict grievous damage to anyone attempting to grab him. More spikes covered the length of his exoskeletal spine, which extended into an impressive bone tail with a sharp, dagger-like tip.

My brother Jasper had told me what he’d found out about Asheron’s story. A little over three centuries ago, Cornelius had tricked him to harness his power on behalf of a powerful patron. The ritual had failed, turning Asheron into a Wraith instead, cursed to wander the Earth in endless pain and rage, spreading death and misery on his path. A young healer from Willow Grove, harassed by Cornelius, had managed to free Asheron from the madness controlling him, and dealt a major blow to the necromancer.

But never in a million years would I have guessed the Wraith was the offspring of the Weaver with a Prince of Hell.

“And this is for damning my son,” Alderan said, his rumbling voice so deep I could have sworn the ground vibrated beneath my feet.

He didn’t make a single gesture, and yet I felt the type of powerful Bone Magic I never would have thought possible. In a blink, every single one of Cornelius’s bones snapped. With his legs broken, leaving only the demon bones in his shoulders nailing him to the wall as main support, he immediately began to suffocate.

“You were a talented necromancer,” Alderan said with contempt in his voice. “You could have achieved greatness and been long lived. But your ambition had no measure. How dare you covet the powers of the gods? How dare you enslave one of our children for your own advancement? Did you really think we would allow it to go on? Well now, you shall reap what you sowed. You only lasted this long because my Cliona wanted her son Pharos freed first. Otherwise, I would have destroyed you centuries ago. You should have refused Isabella’s request to help her enslave my son. But fear not, I will give her your regards while she continues to suffer in my playground.”

I didn’t know how much of his words Cornelius understood. An endless flow of screams and moans of agony tumbled out of him in between unintelligible pleading words, sobs, and strangled gasps for air. I watched the whole scene with morbid fascination as his wounds continuously attempted to heal and his bones to mend only for the damage to be inflicted again in an endless infernal loop.

This truly was hell.

“Five hundred years you have enslaved my Pharos, and you cursed my Asheron to three-hundred and fifty years of madness on top of robbing him of his angelic purity. For those offenses, you shall remain like this for the next eight hundred and fifty years. Only then will Death decide whether to grant you mercy,” the Weaver said with malicious glee. “But if I have any say in the matter, you shall receive the same mercy you would have shown my sons and the Ferryman, had you gotten your way.”

“P-plea-please,” Cornelius sputtered between two screams.

Alderan uttered an incantation that had my skin erupting in goosebumps. A series of glowing runes appeared, forming a half-circle on the ground around Cornelius’s feet, and another half-circle on the wall surrounding him. It was the type of ward that only a fool would try to break or lift. Anyone in their right mind would stay away from this accursed place.

Then, as one, the three powerful beings turned towards Pharos. My back immediately tensed. It made no sense as he had won his battle, and they were clearly here exacting revenge on his behalf. And yet, I felt tiny and insanely vulnerable in the presence of these god-like beings.

“My son,” Azrael said as he placed both hands on Pharos’s shoulders. “It pleases me to no end that you prevailed this day. Forgive me for stealing your righteous kill, but I couldn’t allow him to enjoy the quick escape of death. He has caused too much wrong and must answer for it.”

“I cannot begrudge you this outcome, Father. It couldn’t be more fitting for all the crimes he has committed using me.”

Azrael smiled, a world of affection illuminating his handsome features as he gazed lovingly at his son. I moved aside when he drew him into his arms. Pharos initially resisted my attempt to move away but caved in to return his embrace. It was mind boggling to see my man looking so small in comparison to his giant father, which only made me feel even tinier. My chest constricted with happy emotions when Pharos flattened his wings against his back allowing his father to wrap his own massive alabaster wings around him. A white halo glowed brightly around them, screaming of the divine nature.

After a moment, Azrael released his son and pressed his lips to his forehead before turning to look at me. I instantly straightened, back stiff, and eyes wide. I had not prepared for this. How was one supposed to react to one of the highest-ranking Angels?

“Thank you, Daughter, for freeing my Pharos,” he said gently.

My toes curled, and my chest warmed as goosebumps erupted all over my body. Despite his beauty and mesmerizing voice, there was nothing sexual in my reaction to him. But the depth of kindness and holy love from him made me feel like the light of God himself was shining over me.

“You truly have a beautiful soul, as strong and kind as your heart. A fitting mate for my son. I can see that he has already enhanced you. But as his bride, and now my Daughter, you need more. I will not have you depend on his presence to keep you safe. Will you accept my gift?”

I gaped at him, stunned and robbed of words. Pharos slipping a protective arm around my waist snapped me out of my befuddled daze. I glanced at him to find him staring at his father with endless gratitude. Likely feeling my gaze on him, my man turned his eyes towards me. Reading the unspoken question on my face, he nodded with an encouraging smile.

I returned my attention to his father and gave him a timid nod. He smiled, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes before he raised his palm to my chest. My breath caught in my throat when he placed it against my solar plexus. An intense—but comfortable—heat emanated from his hand. It seeped deep inside me. To my pleasant surprise, he didn’t use his claws to sink them into me as he had done with the necromancer. Instead, his palm seemed illuminated from the inside, the intensity of the luminosity growing steadily as the same wondrous warmth spread through every cell of my body. I almost felt as if I was levitating. My skin tingled, the heat gradually dampening as he pulled his hand away from me.

I almost grabbed it to press it to my chest again, feeling oddly bereft.

“From this day forth, Kali, disease, poison, or any physical wounds shall never have hold over you,” Azrael said gently.

I pressed my palm to my chest, realizing he had effectively made me immortal. While Pharos’s gift of regeneration had previously allowed me to actively heal my wounds or expel poison, his father had made it so my body would passively manage it all on my behalf. With my soul in my man’s safekeeping, nothing would ever succeed in killing me.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my throat constricted by emotion.

He smiled, softly caressed my cheek then took a couple of steps back. Pharos gave his father a grateful smile. He appeared intent on saying something, but Alderan approaching us silenced him.

In the back, Cornelius continued to scream and moan. However, it suddenly seeped into my mind how dimmed the sound was, almost like background noise. I suspected one of them had used their incredible powers to quiet him down. But the Demon Prince stopping right in front of me chased all thought of the necromancer out of my mind.

I had to tilt my head all the way back to be able to look at that beast of a male standing in front of me. Where Azrael had made me feel like I was wrapped in a thick blanket of endless love and protection, Alderan felt like a stirring volcano ready to erupt. But instead of lava, it was lightning, and an overload of energy that seemed ready to burst out of him at any moment. Oddly, it didn’t frighten me. It made me restless and whipped my blood into a type of pre-battle frenzy.

It felt both dangerous and exciting.

“Little Kali,” Alderan said in a purring voice that would have had me running for the hills under different circumstances.

He sounded like a predator about to make mincemeat out of some prey who had foolishly ventured into his domain. Even as he spoke, the rounded bone spikes at the tip of each shoulder extruded into sharp shards. He snapped them off and held them like a pair of daggers. My breath caught in my throat as I remembered how he had used similar bone shards from his forearms to crucify Cornelius against the wall.

“You are not my daughter. But thanks to you, I have finally been able to avenge my Asheron. For this, I would grant you a boon. Will you accept it?”

I swallowed hard and glanced once more at Pharos. To my dismay, he didn’t seem to notice as he was too busy staring with great intensity at the Bone Demon Lord. My eyes flicked towards the Weaver. She didn’t speak a word, but the ‘What the fuck are you waiting for?’ look she gave me followed by an almost imperceptible ‘go ahead’ gesture with her head whipped me into responding.

“Yes, my Lord. I would be honored for your boon, though none is required,” I said in a submissive tone.

Pharos’s hold around my waist tightened in a reassuring fashion. I took a sharp breath when Alderan pressed the sharp tips of his bone shards right in the soft tissue behind the clavicle but in front of my trapezius muscles. The initial sting should have been followed by an intense stabbing pain. But the regeneration warmth I’d experienced since bonding with Pharos grew a thousandfold.

As suspected, Azrael’s gift kicked in on its own, without requiring me to push the regeneration spark into the wounded area. The puncture locations tingled, and a cool sensation surrounded the area. It didn’t stop me from feeling the bone shards sinking into my flesh, but it numbed what should have been debilitating discomfort. Pharos moved to stand behind me and wrapped both arms around my midsection. I closed my hands around his wrists, clinging to them as tension continued to rage within me, and pressed my back against his broad chest for further support.

I wished Alderan had told me what the ‘gift’ was prior to me accepting it. But when dealing with Gods, demigods, and Ancients, several unspoken rules needed to be followed. Here, these gifts were both a reward and a test. Did I trust them enough to take an engagement without having a clear contract and understanding first?

In the arcane world, you never entered into an agreement without a clear pledge from both sides. This was one of the rare exceptions. Under different circumstances, I would have told him to keep his gift rather than risk potential foul play. But this was Pharos’s family, his parents, and the father of his half-brother.

I gasped when something suddenly shifted inside of me. My bones began to morph. Panic almost took over me as horrible images of skeletal abominations began to flash before my mind’s eye. Had he cursed me or…

“Peace, my mate. All his well,” Pharos whispered in my ear, his arms tightening around me as if to keep me in place.

He kissed my temple, and I squeezed his wrists more firmly to try and calm myself down a bit. I jerked my head down as my clavicles appeared to push forward. My eyes widened as my skin split open, revealing discreet, softly rounded vertical ridges the length of my clavicles, as if the bone had become ribbed. If not for the fact that they were actual bones, from a distance, one could have mistaken them for scarification tattoos. A similar phenomenon occurred along my radius and ulna—the bones of my forearms. However, my skin didn’t split open there. The ridges merely formed an elegant pattern under the skin and the length of both forearms.

And with them came a tremendous amount of power. My jaw dropped, and my eyes widened as my senses expanded, and my fingers vibrated with the urge to cast Bone Magic. I could feel every being who possessed a skeleton, teeth, horns, or claws on a wide radius. Even without invoking my new powers, I knew beyond a doubt that I could effortlessly shift, break, or manipulate their bones like never before.

Alderan’s face split into a smug grin, giving me a glimpse of his sharp pair of double fangs.

“Enjoy your new powers, young Kali. You will find them quite entertaining. Should you have questions about them, have your mate bring you to me. I will gladly assist.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” I said, my voice betraying my awe and how intimidated I felt.

“Alderan,” he corrected firmly.

“Alderan,” I repeated, docile, my cheeks heating for no reason.

He chuckled with that same smugness laced with a taunting edge then turned his gaze towards my mate.

“Pharos,” he said as a farewell before glancing at Azrael. “Death.”

To my surprise, Azrael gave him a nod in response then slightly lifted his chin with a hint of defiance. The taunting smirk—subtle though it was—that stretched the Demon Lord’s lips screamed of a barely veiled rivalry. As if to confirm those suspicions, Alderan turned towards the Weaver. The way he strutted back to her, shifting his wings in a way that made him look bigger without flat out spreading them, and waving his tail in a slow and hypnotic fashion perfectly matched the way a wild beast would present for the prime female he coveted.

Although her expression remained mostly unreadable, I didn’t miss the discreet way the vertical slits of her pupils widened briefly as she gave him a quick once over before they narrowed again.

The Weaver didn’t hate what she was seeing.

I could see why. Everything about him screamed danger, and yet had an undeniable appeal. Many a woman would want to be caught by such a beast, knowing he could destroy her with a mere thought and tear her to shreds with his vicious claws and phenomenal strength. But also knowing he would treat her— just her —with the perfect mix of tenderness and savagery.

“You must let me visit you again soon, my Cliona. It’s been too long,” he said in a purring tone as he came to a stop in front of the Weaver. “Surely, you must miss me as much as I miss you.”

Technically, he was much too close, invading her personal space. She held his gaze unwaveringly, merely lifting an eyebrow in a way that hinted his request was absurd.

“Miss you?” she echoed with disbelief. “Have you forgotten how insufferable and obnoxious you are?”

“It is part of my charm,” he replied in that same purring tone while edging even closer to her. “You’ve always loved a bad boy. And you’re long overdue for giving me a daughter.”

She snorted and shook her head, looking almost flabbergasted. Although clearly not intending to give in to any of his requests, the Weaver didn’t back away or push him. She merely lifted her chin with an even greater air of defiance.

“First off, you never have daughters, only sons. Second, it will be at least another thousand years before I would even start missing your arrogant and overly entitled self.”

Pharos shifted behind me. I bit the insides of my cheek, imagining how uncomfortable it had to be to see a male openly coming on to his mother, and in front of his father no less.

“You wound me, my beloved,” the Demon Lord said, sounding totally unfazed. “But very well. A thousand years it is. You are well worth the wait. But should you change your mind prior, you know where to find me.”

Eyes locked with hers, Alderan grabbed a handful of her long, silver-white hair and let it glide through his fingers in a gentle caress. The sexual tension between them was almost palpable. Although she kept a neutral expression, he gave her that obnoxious smirk again before letting go of her hair. He took a step back, and the air around him blurred seconds before he vanished.

The Weaver lowered her eyes and pursed her lips. In that instant, my gut screamed at me that his smugness had been warranted. She had been tempted by his offer. I cast a sideways glance at Azrael to see how he was responding to seeing the mother of one of his children being openly flirted with by a more recent partner. His face was unreadable although it softened as Cliona approached us.

She came directly to me, an approving smile stretching her lips. “I searched a long time for you, Kali Jennings. And you did not disappoint. I leave my son in your care. Together, you will accomplish remarkable things. Do not underestimate the tremendous gifts that were bestowed upon you. Use them wisely but without fear. You have a beautiful soul. Such powers would not have been given were you likely to abuse them.”

“Thank you for finding me and luring me here, to my soulmate,” I said, my throat constricted by emotion.

I glanced at Pharos over my shoulder, who was still holding me from behind. He smiled tenderly and kissed my temple.

“Thank you for heeding the call, Daughter,” Cliona simply replied.

She caressed my cheek, smiled at her son, then turned to face Azrael. I barely managed to repress my shock at the way she looked at him, mirrored on his own face. A deep affection—maybe even love—bound those two. And yet, I didn’t perceive the same wild and barely repressed lust between them that had shone bright with Alderan.

“You said you would save our son, and against all odds, you did,” Azrael said tenderly.

“No one harms my children in all impunity,” she replied, her face hardening and hatred sparkling in her eyes as she turned her face towards Cornelius.

The necromancer was still writhing and screaming in agony as his bones went into an endless cycle of breaking and mending, while Cliona’s hair hooks continued to stretch his skin until it tore and the longer strands wormed their way through the insides of his body, wrecking him from within.

“No, my darling,” Azrael said in a gentle but softly chastising tone. “Cast the hatred out of your heart. He has received his punishment for his crimes and will serve his sentence. Do not waste your thoughts on him.”

“Five hundred years, Azrael! He tortured him for five hundred years!” she exclaimed, outraged.

They said Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. But in this instant, it became clear to me that a mother’s wrath was an even more lethal threat.

“And he will serve an equal time for both your sons consecutively. Your Asheron is safe and happy, and you reunited our son with his soulmate. Do not let this foul necromancer tarnish your light. He’s not worthy of any more of your attention, and your other children need you.”

Her anger seemed to instantly melt, as she slowly nodded. She gave him a sheepish smile and raised her palm to settle it on his right cheek. He leaned into her touch, his halo bathing both of them in a soft glow. Like I had done earlier in the forest with Pharos, Azrael turned his face to kiss the inside of the Weaver’s palm before straightening. Her smile broadened with that same air of deep affection. Yes, these two loved each other, but were not in love .

A pity…

“Until we meet again,” she whispered.

“Until we meet again,” he echoed.

She turned around, walked to the altar and picked up the manticore bones and heart. And then, just like that, she vanished. No air blurring around her, no portal… She was just gone.

To my surprise, Azrael looked at something in the distance before making a subtle head gesture. I turned to the right to see what had caught his attention. My stomach did a somersault, and my chest constricted with emotion as I watched Haroth and a hooded figure I didn’t know framing my brother. As I had not perceived his presence in the mansion when I first surveyed it through the eyes of the magpie, I assumed Cornelius had left Jasper back in Willow Grove. I couldn’t tell whether some of the wards had kept me from detecting him, or if the Grim Reaper had gone to fetch him. Either way, I was elated.

“Jasper!” I called out.

Without thinking, I broke free of Pharos’s embrace and ran to my brother. I all but collided with him, squeezing him in a bone crushing hug. To my shock, his body was no longer half decayed. Even though his soul was but a shadow of its former self, his corporal vessel had clearly benefited from magical regeneration. Even as I tightened my hold around him, I cast a grateful glance at Haroth. Tears of gratitude, relief, and sorrow that I could not have rescued my brother sooner blurred my vision.

This healing wouldn’t allow Jasper to resume his former life here in the mortal plane. He was already a walking dead, his soul bound here through a curse. But it was a gift to me, to allow me to see him in his past glory in that final farewell. However, the absence of a heartbeat in his chest reminded me of our stark reality.

A choked sob rose in my throat, and tears freely fell down my cheeks when my brother hesitantly closed his arms around me. I had not expected any response from him, thinking him too far gone for that.

“Kali,” he said, his voice uncertain, and his pronunciation slurred as if he’d forgotten how to speak after years of disuse.

“It’s over, Jasper. You’re free. I’m sorry it took so long,” I said in a shaky voice, my cheek still pressed against his chest before lifting it to gaze upon his handsome face.

His eyes were glazed over. He stared at me with a slight frown as if struggling to recognize me. And yet, deep down, he knew me or at least understood who I was.

“Can we go home now?” he asked.

I swallowed back another sob and forced myself to smile while blinking away the tears still welling in my eyes.

“You are going to a different place, Jasper. It’s going to be a nice and peaceful place where you can rest and find yourself. No one will ever hurt you again.”

“Peace and rest,” he repeated, his eyes going out of focus for a few seconds before locking with mine again. “That sounds nice. Are you coming with me?”

“That place is not meant for her,” the hooded male to his right said in a firm but gentle tone. “But as she helped protect me against the necromancer’s plans, I will bring her to see you whenever she wishes.”

My breath hitched as I finally realized he was Charon, the Ferryman of the dead who Cornelius had sought to enslave as well.

“Thank you,” I whispered, floored that this would even be a possibility.

“It is I who thanks you,” Charon replied.

Although I couldn’t see his features from the deep shadows cast by his hood, I could sense and hear the smile in his voice.

“But we must depart. Please say your farewells,” the Ferryman said. “When you wish to visit, your mate will bring you to me.”

I nodded and gave my brother one final bone crushing hug and gently kissed his cheek. “Be happy, Jas. I’ll come see you soon.”

“Okay,” he said, his voice almost devoid of emotion. “See you soon.”

With much reluctance, I released my brother and stepped back. To my surprise, it was Azrael who stepped forward. He gently reached towards Jasper’s neck. His hand lost its opacity as it sank into him before gently pulling back out. With it, the ghostly silhouette of my brother’s soul was plucked out. My chest constricted at how flimsy and translucid it looked, confirming it had been decaying for a long time. Without missing a beat, Haroth caught my brother’s now soulless body. It unraveled, not into ashes like someone getting drained out of their lifeforce, but into a shadowy smoke that evaporated into thin air.

“Do not be saddened, Daughter,” Azrael said in a comforting voice. “Jasper’s soul is damaged, but in time, it will be mended. And you now have all the time in the world. One day, he will be whole again.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling like an emotional wreck as I leaned against Pharos for support.

He smiled and wiped the wetness from my cheek with the back of two fingers. That simple touch had his divine light seeping through me. A wave of peace washed over me. I watched in silence as Charon placed this hand on my brother’s upper arm. Azrael then released Jasper’s nape. Seconds later, the Ferryman and my brother’s soul vanished.

Although my chest was constricted, a sense of peace dominated. This wasn’t farewell, but merely a temporary goodbye. Azrael smiled at Pharos and me in turn then gave his other son a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. With one powerful flap of his wings, he took flight before vanishing in a blast of light.

“Well done, Sister,” Haroth said with an approving smile. “You made the right choice. I look forward to seeing the both of you often in the future.”

“It was indeed the right choice. Thanks for helping me see reason,” I said.

“Thanks for being open to reason,” he replied with that taunting edge I was growing familiar with where he was concerned. “Go home and rest, brother. Your time off has come to an end. Your roster is already filling up with almathars to escort. Welcome back.”

Pharos snorted and released me before pulling Haroth into his embrace. The Grim Reaper seemed stunned at first. It struck me then that this was either an unusual display of affection from my man or that Haroth himself wasn’t much of the physical type.

My gut said it was the latter.

Still, he relaxed and hugged his brother back. After they released each other, Haroth opened a portal and teleported out.

“Let’s go home, my mate. We have much to celebrate,” Pharos said.

“Yes, let’s go home,” I said, my heart filling with joy.

He drew me against him. As the air blurred around us, I cast one last glance at the necromancer, trapped in the eternal hell he had brought upon himself. A part of me thought that I should feel a sliver of pity for him. But the memory of all those he had wronged, abused, tortured, and destroyed wiped out any such lingering thought from my mind.

As the world vanished around us, I smiled.