Page 50 of Merciless Is My Crown

Something sharp scraped. I caught the gleam of a hungry eye, and Zeph prowled closer, little more than a dark outline, but he was upright. Moving. Alive. In his Fae form, or something close. A strangled sob got caught in my throat and I stumbled toward him, ignoring Simon’s hissed warning from overhead.

“Zeph. Oh gods, Zeph.” There wasn’t much light, barely a glimmer, but enough for me to see his face, see what three hundred years in this place had done to him.

He was half covered in rough, black scales, his body scarred, his eyes foggy like mine, squinting against the dim light let in by the sliver of an opening. One leg was twisted, his foot pointing the wrong way, an arm hanging low as if he’d injured himself.

Then I was tangled around him, face buried into his chest, breathing in his familiar scent, musky and wild and utterly alive.

All of a sudden I couldn’t breathe at all, couldn’t think, could do nothing except let the tears slide down my face as I clung to this male I almost lost. I ran my hands over every inch, checking his ruined shoulder, his hollowed-out stomach, the knobs of his vertebrae.

“You’re real.” I cradled his haunted face, dark eyes unfocused, wild. “I dreamed of this day, Zeph. For so long I dreamed of seeing you again, but…” His brow furrowed before he reared back, yanking out of my arms.

“Tor,” Simon called softly from above. “We have to…Fuck.”

Overhead, Zorander shouted a warning before stones pelted down, then Simon crashed on top of us, locked in battle with one of those hideous creatures, its jaws snapping down on air. Simon gripped the thing by the throat, holding those gnashing teeth at bay.

“Go,” Simon screamed as the two rolled over and over. “Go now.”

A rumbling growl shook the den. Zeph pounced, tearing the beast off Simon and ripping the thing apart like its sinewy body was made of paper. He dragged the carcass into the shadows, watching as Simon crept slowly to me, pulling me to my feet.

“I’ll give you a boost up. You have to get out of here, Tor.”

Zeph tore off the creature’s legs with a sinewy, juicy pop, then sank those fangs in deep, tearing off hunks of bloody meat, liquid dripping down his chin as he chewed, coating his chest in gore.

Madness shone in his eyes, hunched in the shadows like a beast.

Simon stayed between me and Zeph until I gently pushed him away. “He’s not going to hurt us. If he was, I’d already be dead. He’s starving, and clearly”—my eyes swung around the bone-littered floor—“those creatures have kept him alive all this time.”

More rock showered down, and then, “A little help up here would be nice. We’re overrun with the little bastards and there are more coming.” Raziel’s panicked shout had Zephryn moving, tossing the half-eaten leg away.

His low growl rattled my bones, and I cringed as he lunged at us—faster than he should have been able to move—darting up through the opening so fast Simon could only shout a hasty, “Watch out,” to Zor and Raziel.

“Get us up there,” I cried, but it took time for us to scramble back through the gauntlet of razor-sharp rock until we emerged onto the narrow ledge to find Raziel and Zor shoulder to shoulder behind a shield of blue-black magic, facing someone I didn’t recognize.

“Holy gods,” Simon hissed. “Holy gods.”

“Some fucking help would be nice, Torin,” Zorander hissed. “Tell him not to eat us, for starters.”

Zephryn was a monster.

Nothing like the cocky, handsome shifter who’d flown me over Tempeste in his dragon form just for fun. Or the clever strategist who’d plotted to double-cross the Oracle to save a dying kingdom.

He was every bit as big as he’d ever been—but his once-beautiful form was now a mangled mix of dragon and Fae, scales and pale skin, almost every inch of his nude body covered in horrific scars. Even Zeph’s face was twisted into a mockery of his once-handsome visage, long, sharp teeth protruding from his mouth, matted black hair hanging to his waist.

Part of me mourned for the male I’d loved so long ago, but we were all different now.

The only thing that mattered was he’d survived.

“Zephryn,” I said sharply, loud enough for him to pause. “These are friends. They came to help free you. They are not your enemies.” I picked my way through the shards of black glass. “The king is dead. Carex is dead and the magic has returned.”

His head swung to me, face pinching in confusion when he took me in. “Our plan worked. It finally worked. We came to free you because…” My throat got clogged up and I swallowed down everything I wanted to say, sticking with what was important.

“We came to free you as soon as we had the chance. We’re getting you off this island.”

“Torin?” He tipped his head in confusion as if everything was finally catching up to him. “Tor?” He blinked, and it took me a moment to realize the sheen in his eyes wasn’t rage or bloodlust, but madness. The kind that comes from being locked up in the darkness alone for three centuries.

Zeph’s lips curled back from those fearsome teeth, and he prowled toward me, every slow, stalking step driving the air from my lungs. But I stood my ground. He was mine and I was his, and he would never hurt me.

“Torin.” My name whispered out over and over again, his shoulders shaking when my arms went around him. “My Torin. Finally. I waited so long. So long in the dark.”

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