Page 101 of In the Ravenous Dark
Marklos gives an agonized scream that has nothing to do withme. His body arches, wrenching away from me. Then Klytios, fully materialized with Marklos’s “help,” is swinging a sword for my neck. I tuck and roll as he swings for me again. I move even faster now with Marklos’s life force coursing through me, but Klytios is also keener after draining Marklos’s pneuma. Nobody has said what will happen if I’m struck with a blade made out of shadow, or if my head is no longer attached to my shoulders.
I come to my feet, drawing my half-moon blades, to find Ivrilos by my side. He gives me a flashing glance, his eyes so dark they’re like ink.
I’m eager to fight together with Ivrilos, to see what we can truly do—but then Marklos’s guardian suddenly goes up in flames. His face twists into a hideous scream that’s quickly lost in the blaze. It’s so bright I flinch, throwing up my forearm to shield my eyes. When the inferno burns out, there’s nothing where he stood but flakes of ash on the scorched stone.
Lydea stands behind a dissipating curtain of smoke, her arm still raised. She’s breathing hard, chest heaving, and her dark eyes are wild.
The room is a wreck. The cloudlike couch that she, Japha, and I often frequented is a smoking ruin. The poppy-blossom tables are splintered, scattered around like petals. Marklos lies staring blankly at the ceiling, his chest its own kind of ruin, his legs still submerged in stone. Lydea’s mouth works. I think she might scream again, or maybe vomit. I realize she’s probably never killed anyone before.
“You are not your family,” I say, before I can think of anything else. “This was all me. And even if you helped a little, you’renotthem.”
That seems to snap her back to herself. Her gaze locks onto me. She asks, her voice nearly a whisper, “Are you okay?”
She can’t see Ivrilos, standing next to me with his own blades drawn. She doesn’t know anything—about the king, about Skyllea, about my… reawakening… or about my feelings for Ivrilos.
He steps away, giving us space. “I, um, I’ll go make sure there’s nothing left of Klytios down below.” He vanishes.
“Well?” Lydea demands, some of the usual command coming back into her tone.
I glance down at my shoulder, where my wound is healed over completely, my pale skin and bloodline perfectly intact. “You might say I’m okay.”
“Or I might not?” She still doesn’t drop her hand. “What’s happened to you?”
I grimace. “It’s a long story.”
“Then can you at least wipe your mouth first?”
“What? Oh.” I realize what’s covering it. It’s a simple matter to use sigils to clear the blood away. “Of course. I know it must look—”
Before I can finish, her mouth is on mine, and she’s kissing me. Her arms come tight around me, heedless of my blades. I drop them in an effort not to cut her, and they clatter loudly on the stone floor.
I raise my hands, trying to speak around her lips. “Lydea, wait—”
“Shut up and let me enjoy this before I inevitably want to kill you.”
“Lydea,” I say through her kisses. “There’s a body on the floor.”
“I don’t care and neither does he.”
“I’m a revenant. I’m not really alive, either.”
“You feel alive,” she says as her lips trail down my neck. Her hand gives my ass a squeeze as if verifying.
I nearly laugh, but what I say next dries up any humor completely. “The king is a revenant, too. He’s not your father. He’s Athanatos’s son—Ivrilos’s brother, Kadreus.”
“Mmm” is all she says as her lips drop lower.
I grab her chin and force her to meet my eyes. “I’m serious. I need to kill him, or else Skyllea will attack Thanopolis with the full force of their army.”
Her eyes darken at that. “Does that mean I can call off my engagement?”
A laugh bursts out of me. She smiles in response.
“Your eyes are amazing. So red,” she says, and then she’s kissing me again.
This time, I kiss her back. Ferociously. When she lets out a little yelp, I remember I have to be careful of my strength. I try to pull away from her, but she seizes me. Doesn’t let go.
“I thought I lost you,” she murmurs into my hair.
