Page 127 of His Atonement
He shoves the sword higher, the hilt breaching my body as I cough a mouthful of blood.
No.
I am not what he says.
I reject my kind, refuse to be considered one of them.
I am accepted by my clan, a Dragovihk by my sister’s insistence, and I am a fucking Toth because her fae parents made it so.
And I amnotgoing to fail my mate.
I may not be worthy of her love or our bond, but there is no fucking way I will fail Frankie, no way I will fail my mate.
Fuck that without any lube.
With a renewed strength in my purpose, I grab his hand that buries the sword in my lung, and begin forcing it back out of my body slowly.
"Demon by birth… clan by choice…" I free the gold as Thologar's other hand grips both of mine. "Mate by bond.” My arms shake violently as I twist our hands, and point the blade at his gut. "And husband by the grace of her love.” Adrenaline surges hot and with it I drive the sword into his stomach, send him to his knees as I push it so deep only the tip of the handle shows.
Then, with Frankie once again in the forefront of my mind, I move quicker still, grip his horns and snap them like twigs from his thick skull. Thologar bellows, howls, writhes in pain as I grin like a motherfucker before I stab him through the heart with his own goddamn horns.
"Your son, never will I be.” I shove him to the ground and watch as his body twists unnaturally, bends and breaks as his breath leaves him in an ear piercing shriek.
Thologar's eyes are wide in horror, mouth contorted in shock, hands locked on his own horns he has no chance of removing.
I stagger to my feet, hold my wound and watch as the souls I have given him, the little purple orbs, break free from his leathery skin and zip through the air in jerky figure eights before they fly toward the box seat and disappear under The Caster of Shadows robes.
I blink up at them, both still seated, stone-like statues that remain perfectly still.
My chest heaves, my wounds ooze, my entire body aches with pain but my heart, my heart is light, so goddamn light it will surely float from my chest.
I won.
I fucking won; I did not fail my mate.
I made her as well as my family proud, and because of that my heart soars.
"Ueltorrhzan is victorious,” The Maker booms after gods know how long. "It is done."
The Caster of Shadows lift His arm and three or four dozen Reapers emerge from the black light walls, their small deformed bodies racing to Thologar where they pick at him like scavengers, remove his horns with his shriveled heart attached, the sword, his guts, then whisk every last bit of him away as they fade completely.
Then suddenly, very unexpectedly, one Reaper comes scurrying out with Thologar's horns, lays them at my feet, plucks his heart from the tips then disappears.
I look to The Creator and The Destroyer in confusion—probably in part due to severe blood loss—but also because, what the fuck?
"For your clan's altar.” The Maker sighs. "It is fae tradition to obtain proof of The Sinner’s Sacrifice in its completion."
I nod my thanks, bend awkwardly to pick them up, and wait.
"And now, Ueltorrhzan, I make good on our deal.” There is an oddly pleased tone to Her voice but I'd be an idiot to question it. "Your mate's soul shall be returned to where it rightfully belongs, you can rest assured in that, and I grant you your freedom from the chains that have bound you to my brother.” She rises, and points the sleeve of her robes at me. "Ueltorrhzan, I set you free and with it, I restore your soul that was born to you in love, that was stripped from you in hate. You. Are. Whole."
Black light explodes, shoots right out of Her robes and into my fucking chest so hard it knocks me on my back and momentarily knocks me the fuck out.
I gasp for air, clutch my chest where it burns, cover my wounds that still bleed, and take stock of every inch of me before my eyes struggle to open.
Fucking hell, there is not one millimeter of my body that does not ache, does not quiver in pain, but something is different. I lift my hand, rub the area over my heart and realizeIam different. Not physically, save for all my wounds, but inside, inside where it really counts, that part is different.
That part is in fact whole because I can actually feel my soul fill me, feel it coat each of the cracks my mate repaired, each void she filled with her love. I can feel my soul layer itself on top of each and every imperfection that Frankie made right, binding her to me all over again in a way that feels as though she's doing it herself.
