Bastion breaks the silence before I can dig myself into confession. “Raz was right, wasn’t he?” His arms cross, his gaze locked on Deimos. “We didn’t just bond for Lillien.”
Deimos actually laughs—low, sharp, humorless. “Are we really doing this now? Do you two need validation before we crash a wedding in the depths of enemy territory?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
Deimos sighs, steps closer, and the air between us grows heavier. His eyes flick between us—my sharp edges, Bastion’s clenched fists, the ghosts in all of us.
“What Raz said… he wasn’t wrong. Not all bonds are romantic. And sure, we love to fuck each other stupid, but it’s more than that.” His hand clasps the back of my neck, then Bastion’s, grounding us like an anchor. “You’re my brothers. More than any bloodline has ever given me. And I love you both, okay? But right now? I need you. She needs you. Our girl needs all three of us. So can we save the feelings talk until after we get her back?”
I nod once. Bastion does the same.
“Good,” Deimos mutters, already pulling fire into his palm, twisting it into the teeth of a portal. “Let’s go ruin a wedding and get our girl.”
The portal spits us out at the edge of Zepharion’s domain.
The air here tastes like rot and iron. Obsidian towers stab the bruised sky like thorns. The castle at the heart of it gleams with venomous vanity—draped in crimson silk, studded with gold, soaked in excess. Every arch is a sneer. Every banner, a taunt.
We slip into the procession of wedding guests, cloaked in illusion. They don’t look at us directly, but their whispers coillike smoke. They feel it. The crack in the foundation. The storm pressing against the doors.
At the main gate, Deimos produces the invitation. The guard reads it twice, suspicion crawling over his face, before gesturing for an escort.
We’re led past ornate halls, their walls pulsing faintly with power and decay, down corridors that reek of incense and blood. Until?—
We enter the throne room.
It yawns cavernous and cold, a cathedral to cruelty. The walls are volcanic glass etched with stories of conquest and betrayal, lit by rows of floating black candles that drip wax like congealed shadows. Red velvet lines the pews. And at the far end—looming like a god of rot—an obsidian throne flanked by golden chains.
We’re guided to the front row, prime seats at the altar of mockery.
Zepharion stands already waiting. Draped in blood-red robes that ripple with power, crowned in bone and fire. His smile splits the distance between us.
And then—he winks.
Bastion’s growl rumbles low, feral. My fists clench until my nails bite my palms.
Zepharion saunters forward, every step a performance meant to humiliate us.
“Gentlemen,” he says, voice smooth as poison poured over silk. “Thank you for coming. I must say, it’s very noble of you. Truly. To be the bigger men.”
He leans close, close enough that the reek of his corruption clings to our skin. “But if you try anything…” His smile sharpens, cruel. “I’ll have your heads before you touch the altar.”
Deimos laughs. Not loud. Not unhinged. Just… amused. Dangerous. “We’ll be on our best behavior.”
Zepharion straightens, turns to the crowd, voice booming with unnatural resonance.
“My friends,” he begins, arms outstretched, “today we celebrate the return of a long-lost promise. Centuries ago, her father came to me—a desperate man drowning in debt. And so he offered me something priceless. Something eternal. He promised me his unborn daughter.”
My stomach twists.
“She would be the first full-blooded succubus born in centuries. Power unlike anything we’d seen. She was born for me. To rule beside me. To carry my children and rebuild the old line.”
Beside me, Deimos tenses like a bowstring. Bastion grips the pew until it splinters beneath his fingers.
Zepharion smiles wider, savoring. “She tried to hide. Tried to run. Deimos Tenebris himself tried to steal her. But fate is fate. And she returned to me, as she was always meant to.”
He lifts his hand.
“And now, allow me to present my bride—Isarienne.”
