Sundered by Fate (Shadowbound #3)

Chapter 10

Ten

A ric was back in Malekith's chambers at the Ebon Spire. Or something very like it, at least.

The great, arched windows of onyx were thrown open to let in the ethereal light of the demon realm, illuminating the dark grandeur of the room within. Shadows pooled in every corner, hinting at a space far larger and deeper than it had any right to be. Silken draperies whispered in a breeze that smelled faintly of smoke and wildflowers. And everywhere Aric looked, gold filigree wove through obsidian surfaces like veins of molten metal.

But this time, something was off. Subtly, at first, but undeniable.

The shadows stretched longer, blacker than Aric remembered. The soft glow filtering through the windows had a harsh, unnatural quality to it. And there was a tension in the air, a charge that made the hairs on Aric's arms stand on end.

"Malekith?" he called out, but his voice was swallowed up by the room.

He took a tentative step forward, the polished obsidian tiles cool beneath his feet. The shadows shifted with him, slinking across the floor like ink spilled over water. There was no sound save for the distant thrum of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

It had to be a dream, surely. Another vision meant to torment him, to keep Malekith forever just out of reach. Yet it felt so real. So painfully real.

And then he was there.

Emerging from the depths of those impossibly deep shadows, their inky blackness clinging to him like a mourning veil. The dark prince himself.

"Malekith," Aric breathed, the name torn from him, half prayer, half plea.

There was no crown on his brow, no blood upon his lips. His black hair fell in tangled disarray around a face weary with shadowed sorrow, and his eyes were wide, vulnerable. Not the regal, untouchable demon prince who'd stolen him away in that long-ago battle at the borderlands outpost—but not quite the shattered shell from Aric's visions, either.

He looked impossibly raw and real. Aric's insides twisted with yearning.

Malekith's breath caught in a sharp inhalation. "Aric," he said, and though he did not move, did not reach for him, Aric felt the silken rush of his presence unfurl like dark wings embracing him whole.

And then they were rushing toward each other in a flurry of shredded silk and whispered apologies. Malekith's hands were on him, tracing the lines of Aric's face as if memorizing them anew, and his mouth was crashing down on Aric's in a kiss that tasted like every missed chance and unspoken word between them.

Aric's mind went blessedly blank. All thoughts of visions and prophecies and looming danger wiped away in a torrent of hunger and heat. It was just them, wrapped up in each other at the center of this impossible room where time itself bent to their will.

He fisted his hands in Malekith's hair, tugging him closer even as Malekith's grip bruised his shoulders with its fervency. There was an urgency to their touch, as if trying to make up for every lost moment with the fierceness of their embrace.

And through it all, Malekith's voice, hushed and fervent: "I thought I would never see you again." His breath shivered over Aric's skin.

A coil of molten need ignited low in Aric's belly at those words—the thought that Malekith might have yearned for him even half as much as he'd yearned for this man—and he shuddered against Malekith's mouth.

"I never stopped searching for you." It was the closest thing to truth he could offer up—and gods above, if it wasn't worth everything to hear that hitched breath catch once more in Malekith's throat as he dragged Aric into another scorching kiss.

Aric arched into the searing heat of Malekith's touch, a desperate moan tearing from his throat as those long, demon-taloned fingers trailed down his chest. An answering tremor rippled through Malekith's frame, the press of his hardening length against Aric's hip a promise of the pleasures to come.

"Please," Aric gasped out, the word half-lost in the slide of Malekith's tongue against his own. "I need?—"

Malekith swallowed the rest of his plea with a bruising kiss, fingers delving into the sweat-damp curls at Aric's nape to hold him in place. "I know what you need," the prince rasped, nipping sharply at Aric's bottom lip. "I can feel it, the desperate thrum of your sigil, yearning for mine. You crave my touch, my seed, my very essence marking you as mine."

Aric shuddered, his cock jerking against the confines of his trousers at Malekith's filthy words. The demon prince was right, gods help him—Aric had never wanted anything as badly as he wanted Malekith inside him in that moment, claiming him, owning him, fucking him raw and senseless until there was nothing left but the imprint of Malekith's passion seared into his very soul.

"Then take me," Aric pleaded, writhing against the hard planes of Malekith's body. "Fuck me, fill me, make me yours?—"

A low, possessive growl rumbled up from Malekith's chest, his eyes flashing with unholy light. "As my lord commands," he murmured, and then his mouth was on Aric's once more, devouring him with a hunger that bordered on feral.

Aric was lost to sensation, drowning in the heat of Malekith's skin and the crush of his lips and teeth. He was vaguely aware of the slide of fabric against his own, the cool kiss of air against fevered flesh as his clothes were divested, but it was distant, unimportant compared to the feel of Malekith's hands mapping the contours of his body.

Fingers trailed down the bunched muscles of his stomach, teasing at his navel, dipping lower to brush against the weeping head of his cock. Aric gasped, hips canting forward into the touch, seeking more of that delicious friction.

Malekith obliged, wrapping his hand around Aric's shaft and giving it a slow, deliberate stroke from root to tip. Aric keened as pleasure sparked up his spine.

"Beautiful," Malekith said, his voice a dark, sinful purr. "So responsive, so eager for my touch. You were made for this, made to be taken and claimed and filled."

Aric mustered a feeble mewl, too far gone to form a coherent thought. Malekith's hand was a brand against his sensitive flesh, stoking the flames of his desire higher with each pass.

And then those wicked fingers were drifting lower, teasing at Aric's entrance, circling the furled muscle with a maddening lightness. Aric clenched down on nothing, a wordless plea for more, and Malekith chuckled darkly.

"So greedy," he taunted, pressing just the tip of one finger inside. "So hungry for my cock. I will give it to you, my sweet Aric. I will fill you up and fuck you senseless, until you forget your own name and know only mine."

Aric sobbed, his hips rolling shamelessly into the shallow thrust of Malekith's finger. He was so close, wound so tight with desperate need that he thought he might shatter at the slightest touch.

Malekith seemed to sense his precarious state, adding a second finger to the first and scissoring them wide. Aric cried out, his back arching off the bed as the stretch burned and stung in the most delicious way.

"So tight," Malekith groaned, his voice rough with his own desire. "I cannot wait to feel you clench around my cock, to watch you writhe and moan as I split you open on my length."

The image seared itself into Aric's mind, his cock twitching in Malekith's grip. He was teetering on the brink of something massive, and he knew that the slightest push would send him flying.

It was Malekith's thumb, pressed against the sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside him, that finally tipped Aric over the edge. He came with a hoarse shout, his vision whiting out as ecstasy crashed over him in wave after wave.

Through it all, Malekith held him close, his lips tracing the line of Aric's throat, murmuring words of praise and desire against his fevered skin. "That's it, my love," he purred, his fingers gentling as Aric trembled and shook in the aftermath of his release. "Let go, let me feel you come undone for me."

Aric could only whimper in response, his body still thrumming with the aftershocks of his climax. He felt boneless, weightless, suspended in a sea of bliss and satisfaction.

Malekith's hand never stopped moving, stroking Aric through the waves of pleasure until he was gasping and writhing anew. "I'm not done with you yet," the demon prince growled. "I'm going to fuck you now, fill you up and claim you as mine."

Aric moaned, his cock already stirring to life once more at the promise in Malekith's words. He was so empty, so aching to be filled, and he knew that only Malekith could satisfy the desperate hunger clawing at his insides.

Malekith rose up on his knees, his body a dark silhouette against the ethereal light spilling through the windows. Aric watched, entranced, as the demon prince positioned himself between his splayed thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging insistently at Aric's entrance.

"Look at you," Malekith breathed, his voice heavy with lust and wonder. "So beautiful, so perfect. You were always meant to be mine, little mage. There was no use in fighting it."

Aric could only moan in response, his hips canting forward to meet the slow, deliberate press of Malekith's length. The stretch burned, stung, but it was a pain he welcomed, a reminder that this was real, that Malekith was truly here with him.

Malekith pushed forward, inch by excruciating inch, until he was fully sheathed inside Aric's body. Aric gasped, his head falling back against the pillows as he struggled to accommodate the sudden fullness.

"Gods, you feel incredible," Malekith groaned, straining with the effort of holding himself still. "So hot, so tight. I could stay buried inside you forever."

Aric could only whimper in response, his body trembling with the strain of holding Malekith deep inside him. He wanted to move, to roll his hips and take the demon prince even deeper, but he was frozen in place, overwhelmed by the sheer sensation of it all.

Malekith caught his hesitation, his hand coming up to cup Aric's cheek in a gesture of unexpected tenderness. "Relax, my love," he murmured, his thumb tracing the delicate stretch of Aric's jaw, his eyes fluttering shut at the tender touch. "Let me feel you," Malekith coaxed, his voice a dark silk caress against Aric's fevered skin. "Let me feel you unravel on my cock."

Something in Aric's chest cracked open at those words, a floodgate of desperate need and wanting. He arched up into Malekith's touch, his hips rolling in an instinctive plea for more. "Please," he gasped, his nails raking at the sheets. "Please, I need?—"

Malekith silenced him with a searing kiss, his tongue delving deep to claim Aric's mouth. At the same time, he began to move, drawing back until only the crown of his jagged cock remained inside Aric's body before surging forward once more.

Aric wailed and buried his sob against Malekith’s muscular forearm as Malekith filled him up once more in one smooth, powerful thrust. "You're mine," Malekith growled, his hips snapping forward in a brutal rhythm. "You belong to me, body and soul. I will never let you go."

Aric could only sob as he quaked with the force of Malekith's thrusts. One hand fisted in the sheets, while the other scrabbled for purchase on Malekith's sweat-slicked skin, desperate for something, anything, to anchor himself against the maelstrom of sensation threatening to consume him whole.

Malekith's hand found Aric's cock, wrapping around it in a tight, punishing grip. He stroked in time with his thrusts, twisting his wrist on the upstroke to hit that sensitive spot just beneath the head. Aric’s hips bucked into the touch with a ragged sob, aching for more of Malekith’s claws around him, teeth in him, cock spearing him. Destroy me, Aric thought, and he meant it, body and soul.

Aric shuddered, his body tightening around Malekith's length. Once more Malekith brought him to the brink, and he was ready to succumb.

To be remade as Malekith’s.

It was Malekith's teeth, sinking into the tender skin of Aric's throat, that finally tipped him over the edge. Aric came again, crying out feebly, his cock pulsing in Malekith's grip as pleasure tore through him with ridged, ragged, beautiful pain.

“My sunlight, my Aric.” Malekith’s hips never faltered in their relentless rhythm. “Mine, my sun . . .”

And then Malekith was coming too, his cock twitching deep inside Aric's body as he spilled his seed with a guttural moan. Aric felt the heat of it, the way it seemed to sear itself into his very soul, marking him, claiming him, owning him in a way that nothing else ever had.

They collapsed together, a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs and racing hearts. Malekith's head rested on Aric's chest, his breath hot against Aric's skin as he fought to catch his breath.

For a long moment, they simply lay there, basking in the afterglow of their passion. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Aric felt truly at peace, truly home.

But even as he clung to Malekith, even as he savored the feeling of the demon prince's skin against his own, Aric knew that this moment could not last. There were still dangers lurking in the shadows, still battles to be fought and challenges to be overcome.

Sated and enamored, they lazed together in a tangle of sheets, Aric nestled against the curve of Malekith's body like he'd always belonged there. With their initial fever abated, his mind had room now for things other than passion, memories slinking back on stealthy paws.

"Malekith." He brushed a stray lock of hair from the demon's brow. "What happened to you? After I left Drindal?"

Malekith shifted, eyes finding Aric's with painful clarity. "I . . . I'm not certain." He cast a glance at the room around them, faint lines etched into his brow.

"The visions," Aric pressed, ignoring the cold twist forming in his gut. "Where they kept you in chains—bound with iron—" It came out in a rush, unstoppable now that he'd begun.

"What?" The confusion on Malekith's face seemed so genuine, Aric faltered. But he had to know. Had to.

"In a cell," he said softly. "Being tortured?—"

Malekith blinked at him, disbelief painting his features. "No," he said slowly. "That never happened."

"Are you sure?" Aric gripped his shoulders harder than he intended, trying to hold back the tide of truth pressing at him. "I felt it—lived it, over and over again—I thought you might have been trapped somewhere that I couldn't reach?—"

Malekith shook his head like someone awakening from a particularly bad dream.

"No," Malekith insisted—as if he was trying to convince himself. "No, that's not?—"

Aric reached up to stroke his cheek with the back of one hand. "What happened?" he asked again. But now he feared the answer more than ever before.

As Aric pressed on, the dreamscape around them grew more unstable. The shadows crept closer, dark tendrils curling toward them with palpable menace. The room itself seemed to waver and bend, like a reflection on disturbed water.

Malekith's confusion turned to frustration and then fear as he glanced around at the darkening chamber. He pulled away from Aric, movements becoming erratic as if he were trying to distance himself from an unseen threat.

"Please, tell me," Aric urged, reaching for him, though he couldn't blame Malekith for wanting to escape these visions too. "I need to know?—"

"I—I don't remember." Malekith's voice was strained, edged with panic. "It's all a haze—I don't know what's real?—"

His eyes found Aric's again, and Aric's heart twisted at the sheer terror he saw there. This wasn't the powerful demon prince who'd towered over him with unshakable confidence. This was a man unraveling at the seams.

"Malekith," Aric said softly, and took his hands, thumb brushing over his knuckles. "Whatever's happening—whatever's coming—I swear I'll be with you through it."

Malekith shuddered at his touch, some of the tension leeching out of him. He leaned into Aric's touch with an aching vulnerability that made Aric's chest constrict.

"I'll protect you," Aric said fervently. "Like you protected me."

But no sooner did he speak the words did he feel them slipping away from him.

Malekith shivered against him, and Aric felt something else—something dark and heavy coiling around the edges of Malekith's mind. A presence that made his own golden magic recoil.

"A shadow," Malekith murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "I . . . I warned you of a shadow, did I not?"

Aric's stomach dropped. "Yes. You did." He pulled back to meet Malekith's gaze, the sharpness of his own fear cutting through the haze of his dream. "What did you mean by it? Who or what is this shadow you fear?"

Malekith's eyes grew distant, a haunted look flitting across his features. "I don't . . ."

"Was it Sylthris?" Aric pressed. "I saw her at the palace. What's she doing here? Is that what you were trying to warn me about?"

He let out a choked cry and fell back into Aric's arms, face twisting in pain.

"Malekith!" Aric cried out, catching him as he crumpled. "Malekith, what's wrong?—?"

But the room was already changing, the shadows thickening around them like ink poured into water. Aric held on tighter to Malekith's shuddering form as the walls began to dissolve into nothingness.

He caught flashes—a desolate cityscape; a towering fortress carved from black stone; flames licking at the sky as soldiers in armor patrolled its walls. A woman's silver hair gleamed in the darkness, her lavender eyes swirling with malevolent cunning.

A fortress surrounded by flame and fury—a fortress that he knew all too well.

The Wrathforge.

Sovereign Zaxos's stronghold on the borderlands between their realms—the place he'd never truly escaped from?—

Malekith screamed again, and Aric felt the bonds of the dream tearing apart around them as Malekith's agony spilled over into him.

As the pain subsided, Malekith's eyes slowly opened, his gaze locking onto Aric's with a new clarity. He nodded, the motion small and shaky, but it was confirmation enough.

"I . . . yes." His voice was a rasp of broken glass. "I am his prisoner. At the Wrathforge."

Aric's stomach churned, but he forced himself to focus. "Have they?—"

Malekith winced, a shudder running through him, and Aric tightened his grip around him.

"He's tortured me," Malekith said, the admission costing him dearly. "For months now . . . they want to know my connection to you. Why I'm trying to usurp him."

"Oh gods." Aric held Malekith tighter, cradling his head against his shoulder as Malekith shivered with a mix of terror and rage. "I'm so sorry?—"

Malekith's fingers dug into his arms with an almost desperate intensity. "It's not your fault. This is my failure?—"

"No." Aric pressed a fierce kiss to his forehead, willing his anger at Zaxos and Sylthris and anyone else who might have had a hand in this back down. There would be time for revenge later; right now, all that mattered was getting Malekith back safely. "It's not your fault, do you hear me? I'll find a way to get you out of there—I promise?—"

He tried to look Malekith in the eye. Despite everything, that spark of determination he loved so much still lingered in Malekith's expression, though it was shrouded by fear and pain.

"I swear I'll get you out," Aric said fiercely.

"How long have you been there?" Aric asked, his voice a strained whisper. "And what does Zaxos want with you?"

Malekith shook his head, a haunted look in his eyes. "I don't know how long it's been. It all runs together—the pain, the darkness. As for what he wants . . . he believes I'm trying to overthrow him, that I have some scheme to take the throne. I don't know why he thinks that. All I can remember is being captured, and the rest is a blur."

Aric bit back a curse. Of course Zaxos would suspect Malekith of betrayal. He was always paranoid, always seeing plots in every shadow. But if he'd discovered their alliance, their plan to end the war?—

Aric's thoughts scattered as Malekith shuddered against him again. The strong, capable demon prince he'd known looked so small and vulnerable now, so utterly broken by his captivity. It filled Aric with a fierce protectiveness, a desperate need to shield him from any further harm.

"I'll find a way to reach you," Aric vowed, pulling Malekith closer. "I swear it. You're not alone in this."

Malekith's eyes were wet as he looked up at Aric, something fragile and yearning in his gaze. "I knew you'd find me," he said softly. "I need to . . . escape. I needed to warn . . ." His brow furrowed once more with confusion. "To warn you."

"Why is Sylthris at the palace?" Aric asked, steering the conversation to something he might be able to tackle more directly. "What is she planning?"

Malekith's shoulders hunched, suddenly agitated. "I don't know. I don't?—"

The room grew darker, the shadows gathering like a storm cloud. The air crackled with tension, and a low rumble echoed in Aric's ears.

He had to calm Malekith down—whatever strange magic was at work here, it seemed to be responding to Malekith's fear and distress. Aric stretched out a hand to him, but Malekith flinched away, a wounded animal desperate to escape.

Aric swallowed his own fear and tried to project calm and reassurance. "It's okay," he said softly. "I'm sorry for pushing you too hard."

But it was too late—the dream was unraveling, the vision slipping through his fingers like smoke. Malekith's form wavered and blurred, his anguish tearing at the fabric of the dream.

"No—Malekith!" Aric’s desperation turned his voice into a raw rasp.

Aric reached for him, hands grasping at empty air. "Malekith—please. How do I stop her? How do I save you?"

Malekith's eyes locked onto Aric's, a mix of fear and longing twisting his features. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could answer, a loud noise echoed through the dreamscape—a harsh, discordant clang that made Aric's head throb.

"No!" Aric cried out as he felt himself being pulled away from Malekith, the dream dissolving around them. He reached for Malekith one last time, their fingers brushing as the vision faded.

"Aric—" Malekith's voice was a raw cry of anguish, echoing in the void.

Then there was nothing but darkness.

Aric awoke with a start, the dream slipping away from him like water through his fingers. He reached out, as if he could catch the threads of it and pull them back to him, but they were already gone, dissipating into the cool darkness of his chamber.

No, he thought with a surge of frustration. He was so close, so close to getting the answers he needed, and now?—

A shadow fell across him, a dark shape looming over his bed. Aric's heart leaped into his throat as he scrambled back, trying to summon his magic—but it was no use. The wards they'd placed on him here in the human realm held strong, stifling his power like a too-tight band.

"Aric Solarian," a voice intoned. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. "By order of the Lord Regent Valerian, we are to escort you to the throne room immediately."

Aric blinked up at the figure above him, his eyes struggling to adjust to the dim light. It was a guard—a palace guard, clad in their formal black and gold uniform. Two more stood behind him, grim-faced and silent.

"What is this about?" Aric demanded as he shook off sleep's lingering embrace and pushed himself upright.

The lead guard didn't answer at first, simply moving back slightly to allow Aric room to rise. Then finally: "I'm afraid I cannot say. Only that our orders are to bring you before Lord Valerian at once."

Aric's stomach clenched. Whatever had happened during that tribunal earlier—it seemed Lord Valerian had reached a decision, and Aric had a sinking feeling it wouldn't be in his favor.

"Very well," he said tersely, shoving aside any hope of returning to Malekith's dream for now. "Lead the way."