Isle of the Forgotten 'Extended Epilogue'

We’ve had a few readers say how sad they were that the Isle of the Forgotten series will not get its conclusion. We’re sad too. Make Me Burn was our debut novel. That was the series that started our career. It will always hold a special place with us (and I freaking love our villainous demon Morthanion).

But unfortunately, as we’ve said in the past, the lack of interest, sales, and reviews has made it impractical to continue the series. This entire series makes less than $200 a month. While we absolutely love what we do, love our characters, our stories, this is our sole income. So we have to make choices from a business standpoint. It isn’t practical for us to take 2+ months to write and put money into a book when it’s not likely to earn enough to pay our bills. There are many series from many authors (both indie and traditionally published) that have never been finished because of this.

When you see authors asking (or begging, because you know we’re actually begging, lol) for reviews, it’s for this reason. Reviews and word-of-mouth help books gain notice, which in turn, helps with sales. It shows an author that there is interest in a series. That it’s worthwhile to continue writing said series. Of course, you are under no obligation to do anything at all. And we don’t expect you to. But if you love a book/series and want to see it thrive so you can continue reading, a little help definitely goes a long way.

BUT…we did write the beginning of Make Me Surrender back in 2017. We are now dubbing these chapters an ‘extended epilogue’ for the existing series, and we’re sharing it with you all rather than let it sit and collect dust. So, if you’ve read our Isle of the Forgotten series and would like to revisit some of the characters, here you go! (There are some spoilers if you haven’t read the series.)

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ISLE OF THE FORGOTTEN EXTENDED EPILOGUE


Chapter One

Keric paused atop the promontory and stared out at the endless, sparkling ocean. A salt-kissed breeze swept along the ridge and caught the tails of his gambeson.

How many people had he condemned to this place? How many people had stood on the shores of this island prison and contemplated the infinite sea, painfully aware the mainland was somewhere out there, perpetually out of reach? How many of them had looked over these waters and felt their hope die a slow, agonizing death?

Starting tomorrow, the Council of Mages would forbid access to the island indefinitely—even to the Justicars.

“Enjoy the view on your own time, elf,” Morthanion said.

Keric turned to the demon.

Here, Morthanion did not hide what he was. The wind ruffled the dark feathers of his wings and lifted strands of his long, black hair, tangling them around his curved horns. His eyes were twin orbs of restless fire, oddly complementing the cerulean waters below. He scowled and folded his arms across his chest.

“Very well,” Keric replied, gesturing Morthanion forward. “Lead on.”

He followed the demon higher up the outcropping, through the shaggy grass and past a single, windswept tree. The ocean sighed against the cliffs below, as it always had, as it always would, indifferent to the affairs of mortals and immortals alike.

A single day was not long enough to locate what Keric was after. There were countless places on the isle where Laudine might have stashed information, if she’d done so at all.

“This journey had best be worth it, Keric.”

“If there is even the slightest chance of finding something, it is time well spent. The Council—”

“I’ve little patience for more prattling about the politics of your mage council. Far more pressing concerns demand my attention, and I’ve thrust them aside at your behest for long enough. I care not about your reasons. Let us finish this with all possible haste.”

“You’ve much to say, for one so weary of talk.” Keric felt the same; his duty as a Justicar was to uphold law and order, to protect innocent life from magic-wielding renegades. When he’d first suspected corruption in the Council, he couldn’t have imagined the web of intrigue into which he would be drawn.

Any dealings with the Council involved too much talking by far.

Closing off this island was just another in a chain of decisions the Council had made to deny Keric the ability to investigate that corruption thoroughly. It was another way to prevent him from obtaining potentially damning evidence against them.

Morthanion crouched before a grass-covered mound and hacked at the vegetation with his claws. “I am meant to be the one hurling insults.”

Keric settled a hand on the grip of his sword and surveyed their surroundings. Justicar tribunals had swept across the island several times over the last few months, sealing the magic of many of the prisoners who’d been freed by the necromancer, but there undoubtedly remained prisoners who’d evaded recapture. For all the power Keric and Morthanion individually possessed, it would take but one unexpected blast of magic—or a few inches of sharpened steel—to end either of them.

“You are understandably out of sorts, Morthanion. What with—”

“Enough! I’ve no need for you to remind me.” Morthanion tore up a tuft of grass and tossed it over the edge. “I feel her every discomfort, elf, and I swear you will regret dragging me out here if I miss the birth of my child.”

“Understood. Though you’ve further illustrated my point.”

“I’ll indulge you.” The demon pried up several rotting boards from the ground and glared at Keric over his shoulder. “How have I illustrated your point?”

“Your threat lacked your usual flair for horrid imagery.”

“I will kill you, eventually,” Morthanion muttered. There was a slight pallor to his face as he dropped the boards and leaned into the now-exposed hole. “Borgeln’s balls!”

Keric stepped forward and peered into the tunnel. A jumble of rock blocked the passage completely, beginning a few feet beyond the entrance. It was a delay they could scarce afford. If only Keric had discovered Laudine’s role in all of this sooner! Even one more day would have made an immense difference.

“Baltherus?” he asked. According to the report given by Amnestria Sylmae—formerly one of Keric’s Justicars—the demon Baltherus had sheltered in the cave below after Morthanion and Aria had left the island.

“Undoubtedly. Bastard probably set traps farther in, as well, for anyone determined enough to clear this mess.”

“We’ve no choice but to clear the rubble ourselves.”

“I will not waste a moment more on this gods-forsaken island than is absolutely necessary.” Morthanion backed away from the tunnel and eyed Keric. “At least you didn’t wear heavier armor.”

“Of what importance is the weight of my armor, Morthanion?”

“I suspect, Keric, that you’re heavy enough on your own. Lighter armor is less weight for me to carry. And I understand it’s not particularly easy to swim in mail or plate.”

Keric remembered the reports well; he’d spoken with Morthanion’s mate, Aria, many times since her arrival at the Tower. She’d spent most of her life in the cave near the base of the promontory. There were only two ways inside — and one was blocked.

“I’ll manage the climb well enough.”

“You’re not climbing, elf.” Morthanion stretched his wings. The sunlight created a sheen of blue and green on their dark feathers.

“Direct me to the lower entrance, and I will climb down.”

“We’ve no time for that. And I doubt your Order would honor our arrangement if you were to smash your head open on the rocks below.”

“I will climb down.”

“Is pride preventing High Mage Keric Ornthalas from completing his little mission, or is it fear?”

Keric clenched his jaw. Decades of training to suppress emotions, to rise above them, couldn’t dull the sting of Morthanion’s words. As small as this task seemed in comparison of what had passed and what yet remained to be done, it was linked to something far larger. To a purpose that made his own feelings utterly insignificant in comparison.

“I won’t tell anyone, elf. But as I said, I’ll not waste any more time here than I must. Do not prolong this excursion.” Morthanion walked to the edge of the promontory and turned to face Keric, spreading his arms wide. “Come, High Mage. It’s the quickest route.” He grinned lopsidedly, but his eyes were strangely dull.

This was closer to the Morthanion Keric had come to know—always making verbal jabs that, for all their bite, belied the extent of his capabilities. Even now, despite everything, he’d found a way to take some delight in Keric’s discomfort, but the demon’s heart didn’t seem to be in it.

Because Morthanion’s heart was half a world away, in a Justicar Tower.

Holding Morthanion’s gaze, Keric stepped forward. Eight months before—when the demon had burst into the Tower, ready to battle to the death to rescue his mate—Keric wouldn’t have trusted him with even the simplest of tasks. But Morthanion had proven his dedication to their arrangement, if only for Aria’s sake; if only for their unborn child’s sake.

Gritting his teeth, Keric turned his back to Morthanion. The demon chuckled softly and moved close, wrapping his arms under Keric’s armpits and around his chest.

“Ever flown, elf?”

“I cannot say I have.”

“The mighty High Mage of a Justicar Tower, with the power to alter reality at your fingertips, and you’ve never flown?”

Morthanion stepped back, forcing Keric to move with him. In his mind, Keric saw the edge of the cliff nearing, saw the drop-off to the jagged rocks and churning water below.

“The freedom of it…it’s indescribable. You’ll understand in a moment.” Morthanion took another step. “Of course, you are somewhat larger than anyone I’ve carried before. Hopefully I’ll be able to adjust to your weight before we hit the bottom.”

“What do you mean, hope—”

Keric’s stomach lurched as Morthanion stepped off the edge. The wind roared in his ears, and the cliffside raced upward. His body tensed for impact; they couldn’t have much longer to fall.

Finally, Morthanion twisted, giving Keric a view of the water—and the rocks jutting up from the waves. They approached with impossible speed. Keric’s mind raced. There were ways to shape his magic to avoid injury or death, there were ways to prevent the inevitable collision, but coherent thought had fled.

On the battlefield, action required little consideration; decades of training had prepared him to face his enemies without hesitation or doubt. But this was no flesh-and-blood foe. This could not be defeated with swords or spells. This was fear.

The waves rose, hungry to meet him, to swallow him.

With a sudden jerk and a rustle of wings, Morthanion’s course altered, angling upward to glide over the water. Keric’s gut churned, and the toes of his boots skimmed the surface. He longed to unleash a torrent of oaths at the demon, but could not pry open his jaw.

“My only regret,” Morthanion said, “is that I cannot see the look on your face.”

The demon guided them through a wide turn. The ocean filled Keric’s view, blending into the sky on the horizon.

Keric’s discomfort faded. For the first time in years, his worries were far away. There was only the salty-sweet wind, the sparkling sea, and a brief, serene taste of freedom. Then the turn was complete, and they were flying directly at the cliffside.

Morthanion’s target was clear; several feet over the water line lay the entrance to the cave, not even wide enough to accommodate the demon’s wingspan, barely tall enough for Keric to walk through without stooping. They sped toward it.

“We won’t fit, demon!”

“Of course we will, elf. But I never promised a gentle landing.”

Keric thrust aside his fear, severing his other emotions along with it; they would do him no good.

Just before they reached the mouth of the cave, Morthanion flared his wings. He slowed nearly to a stop in the space of a heartbeat. The demon’s body swung like a pendulum, and he used the force to heave Keric through the opening.

Keric hadn’t anticipated the maneuver, but it didn’t matter. The single moment of weightlessness was enough for him to channel magic into his limbs, reinforcing them; they heated with the energy. He shifted his body in mid-air, dropping into a roll to diffuse the force of his impact.

His momentum carried him into a table. Wood splintered as one of the legs broke, and the whole thing collapsed atop him as he skidded to a halt. Grasping the edges, he shoved the tabletop aside. Objects, unseen in the gloom, clattered onto the cave floor.

His magic-suffused muscles shrugged off the punishment.

Keric rose and straightened his sword belt. His eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he looked around the cavern.

Clumps of drying seaweed lay scattered between his position and the entrance. The floor was at a slight incline toward the rear, and the extra height had saved the items stored within from being swept away by the ravenous sea.

Baubles of all sorts—shells and pieces of driftwood, crude jewelry, bits of cloth and string—were arranged atop simply-constructed shelves along the wall. The baskets and bowls all around were filled with a variety of objects—netting, rope, tools, clothing, rags, and the husks of rotted fruit.

At the rear of the cave stood the opening to the tunnel, where the darkness became complete.

This had been Aria’s home for most of her life. Her sanctuary.

And, for a brief span, Morthanion had shared it with her.

“To your search, mage.” The demon was a shadowy figure at the entrance, save for his glowing-ember eyes.

“Our search.”

Morthanion stepped farther inside. The shadows writhing over his skin retreated, and his wings vanished into nothingness. Simple illusory magic could mimic such effects, but the demon’s shadows were no illusion—they were his essence, his raw, barely-contained power.

The demon walked slowly along one of the shelves, running his hand through the air just over the trinkets, as though unwilling to touch them. There was something about his expression that Keric couldn’t quite place.

“So much has changed,” Morthanion said softly. He stopped when his boot brushed a pile of bark strips and dropped into a crouch. Gathering the pieces, he lifted them off the floor and flipped the first one over.

Keric moved closer, looking over the demon’s shoulder. There was a charcoal drawing on the bark—Morthanion lying upon a pallet of furs, his face oddly peaceful in his slumber.

“For better or worse, this was her home, Keric, and that’s your Council’s fault. Their fault she was so isolated, their fault she was nearly killed here…and before I was banished to this place, I would have been able to hate them for all that so easily, to disregard that they were also the reason she existed. Before her…”

Morthanion shifted the bark strips into a neater pile. Keric saw bits of more drawings— some of Morthanion, others of birds and fish and other wildlife, and one of a woman—before the demon tucked them into the pouch on his belt.

“I should be there with her now.” The demon stood and turned away, searching the nearby shelf. “What are we looking for?”

“Documents of some sort,” Keric replied, turning away from Morthanion to search elsewhere. “I have reason to believe Laudine may have recorded her findings on the Council and hidden them somewhere.”

“I saw no such documents during my time here. Not that would have been of any benefit to her. Banishment to this place is the same as death.”

And were it not for Aria inadvertently alerting Keric to her presence here, no one would have made the connections that pointed toward corruption in the Council. The place was known as the Isle of the Forgotten, and it had often been used as a convenient means of silencing potential enemies regardless of guilt.

“Laudine was a spy, Morthanion. An excellent one, based on what I’ve discovered about her.”

“You’ll forgive my skepticism. How good could she have been, elf, if she was captured?”

Keric rummaged through the items that had been on the table; a few more strips of bark, a few cups, a crude map of the island. “She was captured because she was spying on the Council. They have always ensured their safeguards against spies, magical and mundane, are the best in the world.”

He moved to the bench on the far wall and checked the items in the various bowls and baskets, though he knew anything left by Laudine wasn’t likely to be in plain sight. Frowning, he turned his attention to the cave walls.

“Laudine told Aria that she was a spy. Why say that, but mention nothing about the Council?” Morthanion asked.

“Because there was no reason to, at least not while Aria was so young and untested. It would only have endangered Aria’s life. If anyone came looking for Laudine and found out Aria possessed secrets of the Council, her life would have been forfeit as well.”

“In my day, we just killed each other openly. It was far simpler than all the subterfuge you mortals prefer, especially when you always seem to end up killing one another anyway before all’s said and done.”

Keric slid his fingertips over the stone, searching for anything that felt different, for the slightest cracks or air currents. The full day wouldn’t have been enough to search every inch of the cave, small as it seemed—but Keric had mere hours. “Five hundred years ago, the Council would have killed their opponents without hesitation. But there are kingdoms now—Argosia and Feloshia, particularly—strong enough now to keep them in check.”

“Feh. When it comes down to—” Morthanion grunted, and a metal object clanged to the floor.

Keric turned to see the demon with one hand braced on the wall and the other on the shelf, head bowed. Morthanion’s shoulders rose and fell with deep, ragged breaths, and his claws were embedded in the stone.

“Are you—”

“Her pain is intensifying,” the demon growled. Rock cracked and crumbled under his fingers.

“Then we shall hasten our search.”

“No, we shall depart. Now!” Morthanion turned his head to glance over his shoulder, granting Keric view of one blazing eye.

“Once we’ve searched the cave.”

“There’s nothing here!” Morthanion spun and stalked toward Keric. Tendrils of shadow writhed over the demon’s skin. “The only thing that ever mattered in this cave is across the ocean, in your damned tower!”

The air within the cave heated; Morthanion’s magic tingled over Keric’s skin, though it had not yet been unleashed. They’d fought one another once, when the demon assaulted the tower, and though the confrontation had ended peacefully before either had prevailed, Keric had known…

Whether through millennia of experience or sheer ferocity, Morthanion would have emerged the victor.

“I am no enemy to you, Morthanion,” Keric said. His instincts told him to prepare his defenses; he ignored them and dropped his hand from his sword.

“Contact the tower.” The demon’s skin was oddly pale beneath the shadows. As the air heated, the cave darkened. Morthanion’s advance was like storm clouds rolling over the sun. “Command them to extract us immediately.”

“Our work here is not done. Just a little more time and we will return. You have my word, Morthanion—Aria is receiving the finest possible care.”

“I will not remain idle while she suffers!” Black wings stretched from Morthanion’s back, leaking inky wisps that intensified the gathering darkness. “I will not lose her again!”

The rawness in Morthanion’s voice was unlike anything Keric had heard from the demon. It was enough to make his chest ache; a torrent of guilt and anguish that even Keric’s extensive training could not defend against. For all the magical energy emanating from Morthanion—surpassed only by what Keric had sensed from the necromancer they’d battled on this very island—it was the demon’s emotions that spoke to Keric most deeply.

“I swear it,” Keric said. “She is the safest she can be in all the world. But if we leave this place now, without searching as thoroughly as possible, we will lose our last chance of discovering new evidence to bring against the Council.”

Morthanion stopped before Keric and leaned forward, fangs bared. In a dangerously low voice, he asked, “What care have I for your Council? What care could I have for anything, when faced with her pain?”

Sweat beaded on Keric’s chest and face beneath the unnatural heat. His mouth, in contrast, was suddenly dry.

“You well know, in your heart. You’ve seen with your own eyes the sort who will seek to seize control of the Council. And you know what they would do, if granted the opportunity. It would not be just mages and Justicars slaughtered. It would not be only elves and humans. Everyone and everything living would be eradicated.” Keric leaned forward, resisting the urge to wet his lips. “You could run with your family. Keep them alive for many years. But eventually, there will be nowhere safe in the world, and you will find yourself unable to protect them.”

“Do not use my mate and child to threaten—”

“I make no threats, demon. It is the simple, hard truth of this situation.” Keric looked toward the end of the cave and gestured with his hand. “This place may be hiding information that could aid us against our yet-unknown enemies in the Council. The stronger our case, the better we can protect the people we hold dear. The better we can defend life itself.”

Waves broke against the cliffside, and the wind howled past the mouth of the cave. Morthanion searched Keric’s face with teeth clenched and eyes burning.

Keric couldn’t know the depths of what Morthanion felt, couldn’t imagine the overwhelming instincts of a mated demon. He only knew what Morthanion was capable of in defense of his family—anything. And his family was put at risk by the corruption in the Council. Every family, in all the world, was in danger.

“I don’t care about life itself. Only her. Only them.”

“Allow me but an hour, and we will return to them.”

“Aria needs me now.” The cords stood out on Morthanion’s neck; he was battling himself, Keric realized. Battling his instincts.

“She needs to focus on herself and the child, Morthanion.” Keric’s face stung from the heat, but he didn’t turn away.

Morthanion’s brow fell. The darkness thickened. Keric’s hand itched for his sword, and his own magic stirred beneath the surface, prepared to surge out in a fraction of a moment.

He did not intend to die in this cave, but Keric had long understood his death could come at any moment, anywhere. His long tenure as a High Mage had earned him enemies, even amongst his colleagues, some of whom did not appreciate his pursuit of true justice, his desire to determine guilt rather than assign it. As of late, he’d been embroiled in a deep, political game he didn’t fully understand. His deal with Morthanion Ulthander—Keeper of the Flame, amongst the most feared and vicious of his kind—was but one of many plays that could have led to Keric’s doom.

“Not a moment longer,” Morthanion replied at length.

The darkness receded, the heat faded, and Morthanion turned away. He released a shaky breath and walked back to the shelves, wings dissipating.

Keric resumed his search; there was no time—or reason—to dwell upon their confrontation.

He shaped his magic into a small, glowing orb and rummaged through the belongings as quickly and respectfully as possible. His eyes swept repeatedly over the walls. The dim lighting, coupled with the stone’s natural irregularities, would make small cracks and recesses difficult to spot.

Together, Keric and Morthanion moved the table and pulled up the grass mats, furs, and blankets, searching the floor beneath. Keric risked a few steps into the tunnel—Baltherus had trapped it from this side, in addition to blocking it off—and found nothing. Morthanion emptied baskets and dumped clothes and cloth on the floor.

The demon dragged his gaze over the mess, lips pressed into a tight, thin line. “There’s nothing here. Time to leave, elf.” His expression belied the detachment of his words. This place had changed Morthanion, and even if he’d never admit it, he had to be aware of it.

“We’ve a bit more time.” Keric’s own words rained upon him like boulders from a rockslide, battering him with their untruth. There was so much to be done, there was so much at stake, but time was fast running out. The Council was playing their game, as it had since its inception, and Keric was ill equipped to outplay them. How could he, when they’d created the rules?

A single drop of sweat trickled from Morthanion’s temple, and his jaw muscles ticked. Keric had never seen the demon sweat, even amidst fire.

“Hasten, Keric.”

Moving to the center of the cave, Keric closed his eyes. Scrying—the use of magic to locate people or objects—had never been a talent of his, but there was no other choice. Though he would honor his word to Morthanion, Keric couldn’t leave this place until he’d exhausted every option.

He reached into himself, dipping into the magic at his core, and withdrew some. Exhaling, he shaped the energy. This was no shield or magic-canceling zone. No message whispered onto the wind. This wasn’t the instinctual imbuement of magic into his muscles and bones.

Morthanion faded from Keric’s attention, as forgotten as the sounds of wind and sea, as the feel of the air, as the salt and the stone scent. The cave itself fled his awareness. He tethered his magic to his mind and, envisioning it as mist spreading around him, pushed it outward.

Keric couldn’t see the cave, but as his magic expanded, he felt it. The uneven floor took shape in his mind, followed by the rough, time-hewn walls and ceiling. He ignored the various objects as best he could. Once his power filled the cave—which already strained his concentration and control—he forced it further. As it pressed into countless, unseen nooks and cracks, his awareness flared, and his mind reeled.

Straining to maintain the magic, he focused on the most likely spots, seeking anything unnatural. Sharp pain pulsed through his temples, and his heart thundered in his ears. One by one, he scrutinized those tiny places. His control slipped a little more with each.

“There!” Keric called, pointing to the rear of the cave. “A yard to the left of the tunnel, and about a foot off the floor.”

He didn’t hear Morthanion’s movement, but the demon was a dark shape gliding through Keric’s arcane awareness. Halfway across the cavern, Morthanion halted, and his indistinct shape doubled over. A moment passed, and then two, and Keric dared not speak again for fear of losing the location.

Finally, Morthanion’s shadowy form rose and moved toward Keric.

Keric’s tenuous control shattered. His magic returned in the space of a heartbeat, flooding him, overwhelming his senses and his body. He sank to his knees, barely catching himself on his hands as he pitched forward. The pounding of his heart rose over all other sounds.

“Why the hell didn’t you do that when we first arrived?” Morthanion asked, the usual venom absent from his tone.

“Because I didn’t know it if it would work.”

Faint tremors ran up and down Keric’s arms. He opened his eyes and stared, unseeing, at his hand.

Morthanion’s boots entered Keric’s vision, and a leather scroll case fell to the floor between Keric’s hands.

“Your hour is up, elf. Time to go.”

Keric wrapped a hand around the case. Whether it contained useful information or not, the demon was correct. It was time to depart.

Slowly, he pushed himself upright and got his legs beneath him. Morthanion took hold of Keric’s upper arms and hauled him to his feet. The demon looked worn, his skin pale and clammy. They met each other’s gaze.

“We need to return to the top of the promontory to ensure they can locate us,” Keric said.

“I know.” Morthanion offered a strained grin. “It’s the only part of this I can enjoy.”

Chapter Two

Energy crackled through Morthanion’s body. Faster than his mind could perceive, the promontory, the warm, fragrant breeze, the sighing blue waves, and the swaying grass at his feet were replaced by a stuffy, dimly lit chamber. His stomach churned and his throat constricted. No matter how many times he experienced teleportation, it never became easier.

Keric sagged against Morthanion; the demon shrugged off Keric’s arm and staggered forward, snapping his head from side to side to shake away his disorientation. Justicars hurried to assist their leader as Morthanion strode into the hallway.

His abdomen cramped, and the muscles around his middle spasmed.

“Aria!” he shouted, placing a hand against the wall to support himself. She was here in the Tower; he felt her presence. His instincts roared, demanded he be at her side, and her pain set his limbs to trembling.

Morthanion rushed down the hall, the thunderous beating of his heart drowning out the sound of his footsteps. She’d been in their room upstairs when he had departed with Keric hours ago. That was the direction from which her presence radiated. He latched onto the tether between their souls and followed it, bounding up the stairs.

He entered the corridor leading to their room just as the door opened. Agatha, the gray-haired elderly human, stepped out and shut the door behind her.

She did not move from the doorway when Morthanion approached. His blood flowed as liquid fire in his veins.

“Stand aside, woman,” he commanded.

“No.” She met his gaze and held it. She’d never been so brief or direct in her speech in all the months he’d known her.

“I’ve no time for such games, Agatha. Stand aside.”

“You’re not going in there.”

“I will burn the door and anything else in my way,” he growled. “Nothing will keep me from her side again!”

Agatha didn’t shy away from his advance; the hint of fear in her eyes was tempered by something much deeper. Though her life had only been the pause between heartbeats compared to Morthanion’s thousands of years, Agatha had lived, and she was secure in that.

“Aria needs—”

“She needs me, damn you!” Heat flared in Morthanion’s gut. One door and one frail mortal; he could cut through both in an instant. Why hesitate? None of these people mattered. Only Aria mattered, only their child mattered.

“She needs to focus on the baby, Morthanion. If you go in there like this, you’ll only be a distraction to everyone. To Aria most of all.” She spoke softly, calmly, with a gentle frown on her face. “You look like you haven’t slept in a long while. Why don’t you rest?”

Morthanion clenched his fists. The pain of his claws biting into his palms was insignificant compared to Aria’s suffering, and he knew he felt only echoes of what she was enduring. How cruel were the gods to inflict so much hardship and agony on a creature so precious and kind as Aria?

Footsteps sounded in the hallway; Keric approached in Morthanion’s peripheral vision.

Aria wouldn’t be happy if Morthanion harmed Agatha, but what else could he do? He needed to be in the room. Neededto be with his mate.

Aria’s scream carried into the hall, unmuffled by the door. It crashed against the demon’s heart like waves against rocks, brimming with pain.

He didn’t slash with his claws or draw upon the fires swirling within, but Morthanion could no longer remain idle; he surged forward.

Agatha’s eyes widened, and she scurried aside with a yelp. Morthanion’s legs brushed her skirts as he plowed past her and through the door.

Though Morthanion and Aria had called the chamber home for months, it was unfamiliar to him now. Everything seemed smaller, more cramped, and the air was dark and thick with the weight of Aria’s suffering. The room smelled of sweat and blood, scents that had been too prevalent in Morthanion’s past to be here, now, with his mate and his child.

Quildor—the Tower’s foremost healer and former assassin—stood at the foot of the bed with his wife, Wren, to the side. They glanced at Morthanion and dropped their gazes; Morthanion’s eyes followed theirs the figure on the bed.

Behind him, Agatha and Keric spoke, but their voices were miles away.

Aria lay atop the sheets, dressed only in a loose shift. Her hair and clothing were damp with sweat, and a sheen of perspiration stood out on her skin. Dark circles cradled her usually vibrant eyes. She was terribly pale save for red blotches on her cheeks. Her breaths were quick, shallow, desperate.

Morthanion’s heart stilled.

“You’re doing well,” Wren said. “Just breathe, Aria. Good and steady.”

Morthanion stepped toward the bed on numb legs.

“Thanion,” Aria rasped. Her eyes locked with his.

The demon sank to his knees. The impact jarred him, cracking his teeth together as it reverberated through his body. Somehow, he found her free hand and took it between both of his. Her flesh was cold and clammy. Only his hold on her prevented Morthanion’s arms from trembling.

Wren dabbed Aria’s forehead with a cloth.

A moment later, Aria tensed, squeezing Morthanion’s hand. She curled forward, eyes shut, and her pained moan escalated into another scream.

Veins bulged on Morthanion’s arms as he strained not to clutch her hand to tightly; her pain—or rather its shadow—surged through him, seizing his muscles and stealing his breath.

“By all the gods…” he said.

What could he do against that pain? Fire and claw could not slay it, and his ferocity could not intimidate it. This was no earthly foe. His rational mind understood, but his instincts, rooted so deeply within him, insisted he fight. There had to be some way to take that pain from Aria. Some way to ease her, to protect her. To comfort her.

Quildor leaned between Aria’s raised knees and placed his hands on her rounded stomach.

An inferno swelled inside Morthanion. “Get your hands off her!”

“I…am fine…Thanion,” Aria said between breaths. She sank back onto the bedding and closed her eyes. “He is easing the pain.”

Quildor remained silent, his eyes also shut, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Morthanion was meant to be Aria’s strength. He was meant to be her comfort, her assurance. Just as she was his.

Wren walked around the bed, stopping beside Morthanion.

“We are taking care of her,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “but your presence will only increase the stress on her and the baby.”

He twisted, shrugging off Wren’s hand. “Don’t touch me. Don’t touch her.”

The air heated as those infernal flames gathered at his core.

“Morthanion,” Keric said, “this is not helping. Come into the hall with me. We must allow them room to work, but we’ll remain close by.”

Morthanion gritted his teeth. Standing up, he leaned over the bed and kissed Aria’s forehead. His fires would not cool, but his fury was not aimed at her; it could never be aimed at her. “I will not leave you to suffer again.”

She smiled and cupped his cheek, brushing her thumb over his skin. Her fingers abruptly curled, and she grunted, dropping her arm; she locked a cry behind tightly pressed lips.

Keeping hold of her hand, Morthanion propped an arm on the bed as fresh agony swept over him, assaulting his already aching muscles. His claws snagged onto the sheets.

“Shh. Just breath, Aria,” Wren soothed. She settled a hand on Aria’s thigh and stepped closer to Quildor, who had not yet moved.

“Tell me what to do.” Morthanion’s throat was as dry as the Hemrisk Desert, and his words cut like jagged stones as he forced them out. “Tell me how to take your pain away.”

Keric squeezed the grip of his sheathed sword; the exchange between Aria and the demon seemed a private moment, and never had the High Mage felt so out of place in his own Tower.

Aria relaxed, raised Morthanion’s hand to her forehead, and closed her eyes as she took in deep, steady breaths. Finally, she pressed her lips to his hand. “Go.”

“I refuse to leave you.”

“Please.”

The room was silent save for Aria’s labored breathing as the demon stared down at her. Keric’s heart raced; he didn’t know if it was because he felt like an intruder here, or because it would take a full tribunal to remove Morthanion if he refused to leave. Only Aria herself had any hope of moving him.

Finally, Morthanion bent down and pressed his lips to Aria’s. Their lingering kiss granted a fleeting glimpse of the desperation, fear, and love between the two.

“Go, Thanion,” Aria said. “I will see you when our child comes.”

Without another word, Morthanion drew away from her and walked out of the room, his stride surprisingly purposeful. Keric was already following when Agatha shooed him. She closed the door as soon as Keric was in the hallway, nearly hitting him with it.

Morthanion paused, shoulders rising and falling with ragged breaths. He held his hands at his sides, fingers flexing and relaxing, and bowed his head.

“For all the power I wield, all the people who’ve feared me…I can do nothing for the one who matters most.” The demon’s voice was almost too low to hear.

“We all have moments of helplessness,” Keric said. His words nearly allowed the weight of everything—the Council, the countless innocent lives in danger, the people under his command in this Tower—to crash down upon him. “Some of us more than others.”

“What can I do?”

“Trust her. Trust the people helping her.”

“I should be the one helping her. Protecting her.”

“I made a promise to you, Morthanion. I will do all in my power to keep her safe, to keep your family safe. Wren worked as a midwife in her village, Agatha has decades of experience as a healer, and Quildor’s healing magic is the most powerful I’ve ever seen.”

Morthanion tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling, and nodded.

Time lost meaning to Keric as they waited. Morthanion paced restlessly, his silence as telling as his actions. He halted every time Aria screamed, and before long his clothes were damp with sweat and his face bore the same sheen as his mate’s. Occasionally, the demon braced himself against the wall, muscles tensing, his claws leaving scratch marks on the stonework.

Keric leaned against the wall beside the door and folded his arms over his chest. Since childhood, he’d been taught to cast aside emotions, even before he began training as a Justicar. His people, the Vurendel, valued efficiency, logic, and knowledge over all else, and considered emotional attachment to be a distraction at best. They didn’t outright deny emotional responses, but it was considered improper to express them.

His Justicar training had reinforced those teachings and taken them further—Justicars operated at their best without feeling love or hatred, without experiencing fear, desire, anger, or sorrow. They were meant to judge impartially and uphold the laws of the Council.

He tried not to feel anything now. He tried to focus on the situation at hand, on the logistics, the practicalities. But he could not escape reality.

The people in Keric’s Tower had become his family. Their safety was his responsibility, and it was his failure when they came to harm. He knew Aria’s pain was natural, that it was unavoidable, that he could do nothing to aid her, but that knowledge did not eliminate his helplessness.

The same sort of helplessness Morthanion must have felt.

And how could he not find some amusement in that thought? No one, certainly not Keric himself, could ever have imagined he’d find himself empathizing with a demon ancient and powerful enough to have spawned legends and sown terror across the known world.

Keric closed his eyes, only then noticing their weariness. Though it had been some time since he’d slept, sleep didn’t come now. The distractions were too numerous; the constant pacing of the demon, the scrape of claws against stone, Aria’s screams and moans echoing along the corridor. He could no more ignore those sounds than he could the situation with the Council.

Aria’s cries built to a new, exhausted peak, and she fell silent. Morthanion halted his pacing, turning toward the door. His eyes burned as moments of silence passed. The air was thick, bristling with energy, and Keric held his breath for fear of making a sound.

In the bedchamber, a baby cried.

Morthanion darted forward in a blur of shadow. Agatha cried out as the demon burst through the door. She stumbled backward; Keric hurried through the entryway and caught her arm, steadying the woman before she could fall.

Agatha said her thanks and smoothed her skirts, offering Keric a smile as they walked to the bed, following in the demon’s wake.

Dropping to his knees at the bedside, Morthanion leaned forward and grasped Aria’s hand. Keric had only seen her look this tired and worn once—the days she’d first come to the Tower, on the verge of death due to her countless wounds.

Morthanion spoke to her rapidly, voice too low for Keric to make out his words, and smoothed back Aria’s damp hair with his free hand.

Wren stepped toward them, face beaming, with a cloth-wrapped bundle in her arms. “You have a daughter.”

With her blue eyes alight, Aria turned to Wren and smiled. Releasing Morthanion’s hand, she held her arms out, and Wren carefully passed the baby to her.

Keric stepped closer as Aria peeled back the cloth to reveal her child. The babe’s eyes were shut. Her cheeks were full and ruddy, her little nose upturned, and her head was covered in dark hair. Aria slipped her finger into the child’s tiny fist and lifted it.

After two centuries as a Justicar, Keric had seen more blood and death than he could quantify. He’d stayed with comrades, clutching their hands as they breathed their last; he had used his blade with ruthless, deadly efficiency. He’d seen reality torn asunder and rearranged by mages of unfathomable power. Somehow, none of that compared to the weight of this moment.

None of it compared to seeing a new life come into the world, especially knowing the odds that had been set against her birth.

“She is beautiful,” Aria turned her gaze toward Morthanion, her eyes sparkling with tears. “We have a little girl.”

Morthanion reached out with a tentative, trembling hand and brushed the back of a finger over the baby’s cheek.

Aria touched his arm. “Thanion?”

He hesitated for a moment before looking at his mate. “She’s…perfect.”

Aria lifted the child toward Morthanion. “Would you like to hold her?”

The demon leaned back infinitesimally. “No. I’ll hurt her. I—”

“You will not hurt her, Thanion.” Gently, she transferred the baby into Morthanion’s arms.

He stared down at the babe in silence; she was small enough that Morthanion could hold her in one hand, if he chose, but he cradled her as though she’d break at the slightest movement.

Keric had glimpsed this side of Morthanion with increasing frequency over the months, but it had never been so utterly decoupled from the undercurrent of rage and possessiveness that pervaded the demon’s demeanor. This was love, unmasked, free of the bluster behind which Morthanion always hid it.

“She is perfect,” Morthanion repeated in a low, rumbling voice. His eyes flicked to Aria. “Just like her mother.” He smiled and brushed his finger tenderly over the baby's cheek. "Dalamiera."