Page 18 of Immortal Alliance

Pyre’s breathing quickens and Baron pulls his fangs from my neck. At the same time, he lifts his abdomen up and pulls my hips down hard, trying to get inside me as deeply as he can. Pyre grabs my hips and continues to slam into me. Another second later and he explodes inside me, collapsing against my back. Baron holds me upright and Pyre steadies himself behind me as Baron pumps me from below, slamming his cock n Pyre’s. Baron scrunches his face as he releases himself within me and I collapse against his chest.

CHAPTER SEVEN

EILISH

The Veil

Kolvar meets me at the entrance of the Echoing Spire. He puts his arm over my shoulder with an infectious smile.

“You ready, lass?” asks the burly satyr.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He chuckles and we walk over to Dragan, where he stands beside Pyre. Pyre’s mouth flattens into a thin line. “I can only hold the portal open for a few seconds. After that, you’re on your own until Baron and I finish healing the Veil.”

“Thank you, Pyre,” I say.

A swirl of purple energy begins to form in front of us until there’s a break in the fabric of the spirit world—it’s the opening of Pyre’s portal. Without hesitation, I jump through the vortex of power. That unsettling burst of frigid air cascades over me like a winter storm, and then all I feel is sweltering heat.

I drop from the portal and hit something but whatever it is, it’s yielding. I open my eyes at the same time that I feel gritty sand in my mouth, but before I can think another thought, I find myself rolling down a steep dune. My eyes burn against the unforgiving sun as my vision struggles to adjust to my new surroundings. Being in the Veil for so long, I’ve grown accustomed to darker and more subdued colors.

I stop rolling once I reach the bottom of the dune. Catching my breath, I brush the sand from my muslin shirt. At the sound of movement, I turn to see Dragan falling down the dune after me, landing with a loud grunt and a string of complaints. Kolvar is next. He knows to throw his body in the right angle to plant his hooves into the sand and slide down the mound, as opposed to rolling like Dragan and I just did.

“Are you okay?” Dragan asks me.

I turn to look at him and simply nod. I still find it nearly impossible to look at Dragan. Ever since Baron and Pyre took me together, I feel this incredible sense of guilt whenever I look at Dragan. Of course, he has no idea what happened between the three of us… “You?”

“Yes.”

Kolvar casts us a smug look and I shove his shoulder lightly.

The satyr looks up at the sun. “We have maybe five hours until the sun begins to set beyond the horizon and the darkness will make it difficult to make our way.”

“We could magic the light?” I ask.

Kolvar shakes his head. “Don’t attempt to use magic here. The ethers are thin in the Decolate Border, and that means demons could be close by.”

“Demons?” I repeat.

He nods. “And they can sense magic from miles away. Not to mention... magic just ain’t the same here. It’s muffled, like a scream in a hurricane. And stay close, lest you fancy gettin’ lost.”

“How do you know all of this?” I ask.

“My clan has been wanderin’ these wastelands for a long time.” He looks up at the sky, then back at us. “Once the sun sets, I’ll use the stars to chart our way to the Mercenary Stronghold.”

I look around myself at the landscape Kolvar refers to as a “wasteland.” There doesn’t seem to be a bush, tree or an animal for as far as the eye can see. Instead, it’s just a mass expanse of sand and dust.

“How did all of this come to be?” I ask.

“Galmer was the first to lay claim to these lands. His mother was a rebel queen, a human, who led the humans in battle during the first Singularity. That’s where she met Galmer’s father. The surge in magic of the Singularity allowed him to take the form of a human man, and they spent his last night alive together. After Galmer was born, his mother—along with the other humans—were wiped out entirely. Galmer was raised by rebels until he broke away and set out on his own.”

“How did he become a mercenary king?” I ask.

“Galmer’s always had the strength of a soldier and the conviction of a good leader. A natural talent for carvin’ his own way through the world. Folk of all walks o’ life took notice an’ swore their allegiance to him. Galmer wasn’t keen on bein’ a leader, I’ll tell you that much. But he saw how much the realms needed him, and he cast aside his own needs for theirs.”

I listen closely to Kolvar’s tale. The satyr has a way of telling a story with such color, I find myself riveted by his words. “And the clans?”

“Six of ‘em. The Banefire Horde is mine. Then, there’s the Olveroth, who are mostly lycans and beast shifters. Sunder’s Might are of the king’s direct lineage. The Adamante are rock trolls, golems, and gargoyles on rare instances.” He pauses and looks at Dragan with a big smile. Then he turns back to me and continues his explanation. “Mournblades are vampires, demons, and fae creatures who are more assassins than anythin’. The Thradsaryl are wraith warriors and powerful spellcasters. But there are also those who live in the stronghold who aren’t part of the clans. Galmer allows refuge to all wayward stragglers.”

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