Page 33 of Vines of the Underworld

I watch in reverence how her skin starts glowing. Is this something all human females do, or is it the magic finding its way to the surface? Then I feel the powerful sweep of arcane energy, and the Extractor vibrates.

Electric sparks shoot from the apparatus, and a thin line of smoke follows. Still unable to peel myself from Celeste, I watch it catch fire. I force myself to pull away and leap toward the flames.

What have I done?

I stifle the flames with a blanket.

The only chance of saving my home is gone, destroyed by my lust.

My frantic gaze lands back on Celeste—she’s still hazy but survived my rough mating. Her long lashes cast shadows over her cheeks, and she looks serene and beautiful. Regal and powerful in her vulnerability. A queen without a throne.

Mine.

She is mine.

I have claimed her. And she survived. With her powers, I might be able to find another way to build a future for my kind, for us. I’m respected and admired by many—an influential warlord. Maybe…

Her skin isn’t glowing anymore, and I step toward the table.

And then, palpable darkness pools at the center of the room, consuming all the lights around.

A massive black figure rises and steps out of the murky haze. Another one follows. And another one.

I grab the first blade within my reach and whistle for Cerberus. He sneaks into the room, ears pulled back, growling.

Black Guardians. The faceless, phantom guards of the Dreadful One.

They are here for the Anchor. And I will defend what is mine.

Celeste – The Anchor

W hat happened to me? What did these three Fae males, these Hunters, do to me? My conservative, timid approach to sex is swept away, baring a starved and brave new me.

I felt liberation for the first time I gave in to their temptations. A sensation of power followed. Ancient, lingering power, soft but persistent, like the water eating up the biggest rocks and shaping them to its will.

Was it the magic pulsing deep within me or the gentle power of the female over a male? I cannot tell.

All my fears—would I look slutty or ridiculous if I followed my desires, what would happen if I lost control—all my doubts are wiped out by the life-changing events of the last weeks. And honestly, I like the new me.

When Cyrell finds me in the subway tunnel, I feel no fear. I relish the dark desire in his eyes, and his hunger for me, my flesh, and my essence ignites my bones. I can drive this male into a frenzy with just a few words or a swing of my hips.

Our union is violent. He bites me and drinks from me, and his blood drips into my mouth. It tastes like underground decadence and ancient secrets, like loneliness among golden tunnels filled with machinery and despair. My senses sharpen; my eyes pierce the shadows easily, and my nostrils catch the faintest scents.

And when he pulls away from me, I know I have given, but I have also taken something in return.

Then a dark presence fills his hideout, and four terrifying phantoms made of shadows swirl out of the black haze.

The Dreadful One is here.

Still sprawled on the table, I watch helplessly how Cyrell leaps onto them. His otherworldly agility and speed are so fascinating to watch. Caught in the momentum, his silver hair flashes, and then he flies across the room, swept aside as if he’s not a six-foot six-inch warrior but a mere fly.

The sound of immaculately oiled transmissions follows the rumble of broken objects, and Cerberus leaps at the first black figure, aiming for its throat.

Metallic canines clack, the air densifies, then explodes, and the giant dog ends up in the far corner of the room in a shower of sparks, his hind legs bent in unnatural angles.

It’s painful to watch Cyrell’s companion struggle to rise, even more painful than seeing his master flying across the cramped room, crashing into the piles of machinery lying around. He stands up, bleeding, long talons protruding from his knuckles, and swings to slice the throats of the mysterious intruders. Yet the blades pierce only shadows. Three of them are fighting him. Or keeping him away from me, I realize.

The fourth shadow suddenly looms over me, and I shudder when I feel ice-cold fingers fondle the leash on my neck. I look up to the face of the abomination and freeze in terror. Warping shades of black stare back at me, and I know that I cannot expect mercy or empathy from a creature like this, that it would die and come back only to do its master’s bidding.

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