Page 3 of Gods of Prey
At least I’m fully clothed this time.
Glancing around, I stop to take in the beautiful landscape before me.
I materialized on the jagged edge of Mount Noxmere, my form solidifying with a familiar ache. Thirty-three human lifetimes completed, each ending in pain more creative than the last. This time was especially gruesome. Slow, violating, and agonizing.
The swine who killed me screamed obscenities into my ear as they pushed my mortal body beyond its limits. They were devotees of the Loyal Order of the Serpent, determined to reach my brother through my suffering.
I’ll ensure each and every one of them pays the price when they arrive here, as I always do. It’s my own small act of rebellion toward the Divine Council. They don’t get to put me through such senseless suffering without receiving a little push back.
The cold winds of Umbraeth whip around me, carrying the scents of home: ash and midnight blooms, the metallic tang of ancient magic. Wings of onyx flex to their full extent behind my back, feathers of the deepest black fading into iridescent purple tips. If you look close enough, you can see the constellations shining through the dark mist surrounding each one.
But no one ever gets close enough.
Below me stretches my realm in all its dark splendor. The Nightshade Forest extends like a black sea, its trees twisted and gnarled, luminous fungi glowing between their roots. Shadowmere Lake reflects no stars, only the perpetual twilight that serves as our sky. The Duskvein Rivers snake through the landscape like broken fingers, carrying souls to and from Aurelys or the mortal realm. If I squint, I can even see the endless pits of Mirreveil, where troubled souls are sent for endless punishment.
Home.
After centuries, it still takes my breath away.
I should go straight to the castle. Erebus will be waiting for my report, ready to relinquish temporary control of the realm. The Divine Council will want confirmation that Sebastian and I have completed our thirty-third mortal sentence.
But Sebastian isn’t here.
I reach out with my divine senses, searching for my twin’s presence in Umbraeth.Nothing. Then I extend my awareness further, toward his home in Aurelys. He’s not there either. A coil of dread winds through me. If he’s not in either realm...
“You’re still in the mortal world, aren’t you?” I whisper, my words carried away by the wind. “Damn you, Sebastian.”
I need a moment to think. To process. My castle, with its looming responsibilities, can wait.
I gather the shadows around me, feeling them embrace me like old friends. Shadow-stepping is effortless now, as natural as breathing once was in my mortal form. Flying, on the other hand, takes a little practice to get back into the swing of things. As much as I love the open air, I don’t have time to reset broken bones.
I dissolve into darkness and reappear in an alley in Nocthollow, the sprawling city at the base of the mountains.
It pulses with the energy of countless souls—spirits awaiting reincarnation, entities who serve the realm of Death, beings neither living nor dead who have made Umbraeth their eternal home. They all love and fear me. It’s a mixture I’ve learned to embrace as time wanes on. One that keeps their unrest at bay. So long as they keep their distance, I’m content.
The buildings rise in graceful spirals of obsidian and bone, connected by bridges that appear to float on mist. Lanterns burn with blue flame, casting everything in an ethereal glow.
I pull down the hood of the cloak I manifested a moment ago. The last thing I need is to be recognized. The Goddess of Death,slinking into a tavern like some common shade. But news of my return will spread soon enough. For now, I just want a drink and a moment’s peace.
The Whispering Veil is exactly as I remember it. Smoky, loud, and gloriously despicable. Spirits of all kinds crowd the tables, gambling with years of their afterlives, trading secrets, or simply enjoying the strange limbo between existences. I slide onto a stool at the bar, keeping my face turned away from the crowd.
“Whispershade,” I tell the bartender, a gaunt figure with skin like parchment and eyes that haven’t held light in centuries. He recognizes me, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. “Make it strong.”
He slides the drink toward me without further comment, the liquid inside swirling with ghostly luminescence. I slide a pile of silver coins across the bar top, then take a long sip, feeling the familiar cold fire spread through my chest. It’s been too long since I’ve tasted whispershade. The mortal realm has nothing like it—alcohol that chills instead of burns. That sharpens the mind rather than dulling it.
I’m halfway through my drink when I feel a presence behind me, cold and ancient.
“I didn’t expect to find you here, my lady.”
I don’t turn around. “Then you don’t know me as well as you think, Erebus.”
He slides onto the stool beside me, signaling for his own drink. Erebus, the interim God of Death, looks much as he always has: tall and severe, with features carved from midnight stone and eyes like distant stars. We’ve always had an easy relationship. I dare say he’s my closest friend.
He’s been ruling Umbraeth in my absence for centuries, and I can tell by the way he holds himself that he’s eager to give upthe throne and return to his regular life. Even if it’s just for a few months until I’m assigned my next mortal identity.
He’s serving this punishment just as much as I am.
“The castle has been preparing for your return all day,” he says, voice carefully neutral. “Shadowmere began rising tides at dawn. The ravens returned to the towers. Umbraeth knows its true ruler has come home.”
