Page 143 of Between Soul and Vessel
“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath as she got up on the side of the well. I didn’t miss the tremble in her hand or the fear in her expression as she peered down the hole, looking our unknown fate straight in the eye. Her face tipped up to mine, her voice small. “Shadow?”
“Yes?”
“If this doesn’t work—”
“No,” I cut her off. “It’s going to work. We’re going to get out of here.”
“It’s going to work,” she repeated with a firm nod. She kissed the rabbit’s foot she clutched in her hand and then jumped inside the well, her scream echoing through the stone walls. It was abruptly cut off as she fell into the river—
Splash!
I hoisted myself up onto the edge and followedafter her.
Von
Night had fallen, painting the sparse, hilly terrain a deep shade of indigo. We’d been flying all day, no stops, and my mate had fallen asleep in my arms. Her chest rose and fell in a natural, steady rhythm. The further south we’d traveled, the hotter the sun became. Still, I held her tightly to me, unable to get enough of the heat radiating from her body.
Because it meantshe was alive.
I knew what the opposite felt like—when the heat faded from her skin and her muscles turned stiff. I’d experienced that twice—losing her, holding her lifeless body in my arms. Both times, it had felt like someone had taken a sledge and smashed my rib cage open before they carved my phantom heart out.
For that was what Sage was—she was my heart.
My purpose.
My everything.
Her cheek was crunched up against my chest, causing small crinkles by her nose. She let out a soft, happy sigh, and the corners of her mouth tugged up into a smile.
It was a contagious thing, spreading to my own.
Are you dreaming, Little Goddess?I thought to myself.
Lately, whenever Sage slept, she recovered more and more memories of us, of when we’d been trapped together in the strange hole in the ground, when I was called Nockrythiam and she was the mortal daughter of Luna and Herulf. With each memory retrieved, a story had begun to unfold, of two souls, trapped together, who started off despising one another but slowly started to like one another, and by the looks of her smile right now, perhapsevenmore.
Unwillingly, I pulled my attention from Sage and glanced up, eyes scanning the horizon. Nothing but night sky stretched on before us. Folkoln flew beside me, Artemesia in his arms, Kaleb perched on his shoulder. His little beak kept tipping down as he tried not to nod off. Every once in a while, he would jerk his head up, shake it, then try to focus on the story Artemesia told.
Artemesia. That one was quite the chatterbox, not that Folkoln seemed to mind. He hung on to every word of hers more than he hung on to a bottle of bourbon. I never thought I’d see the day, nor did I ever think there would be a female out there who could run my brother, the God of Chaos, ragged, but one look at Artemesia, and I knew that’s exactly what she would do to him.
Fucker deserved it too. He’d spent the majority of his lifetime tormenting others. Let him be the tormented one foronce.
“Mmm,” Sage softly moaned as she nuzzled further into me.
One of my brows lifted—now I was curious. Was she having a wet dream about me? Or was she remembering a time when I had ravished her?
Sage had opened her mind to me, a door she left unlatched so I could join her dreams and memories while she was asleep. Letting my wings take over and my shadows steer us, I focused on the bridge connecting our minds and walked my way into hers.
“Creator above, this is sooo good,” the Little Mortal moaned like a female who was having her sex properly devoured, even though it was she who was doing the devouring. She sat across the fire from me, a fish in her grubby hands and a beaming smile on her face.
“It stinks horribly,” I groaned, repulsed by her. She’d eaten so many fish, it was a wonder she hadn’t turned into one. I could only imagine how horrible her arousal must taste—something I’d found myself thinking of more and more lately.
Not that I wanted to lick her. It would just be for . . . educational purposes.
“It does not. It smells delicious. Besides, what kind of dragon doesn’t like fish?” she asked, shaking her head in disbelief.
“One with very good taste,” I answered, crossing my arms over my chest as I leaned back against the tree.
“Or one who is just extremely picky,” she quipped, before her blunt mortal teeth tugged off another bite of flaky, pink meat.
