ELARA'S POV
I woke up screaming.
Not from nightmares—from his nightmares. Through our bond, I'd just lived through Morven's memory: being sealed in his mountain prison, divine chains burning into his essence while mortals drained his power drop by drop for three thousand years.
"Stop projecting!" Morven's voice cut through the darkness. He was across the ruined temple, pressed against the far wall like he was trying to put as much distance between us as possible.
"I'm not doing it on purpose!" My whole body shook. His agony had felt so real. So endless.
The divine hunters were gone—disintegrated by our combined magic. But the effort had knocked us both unconscious for hours. Now night had fallen, and we were alone in the temple ruins with only moonlight filtering through broken walls.
And I was freezing.
My teeth chattered so hard I bit my tongue. The temperature had dropped drastically, and my torn dress was no protection against the cold. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to generate warmth.
Through the bond, I felt Morven's irritation spike. "Your discomfort is deafening."
"Sorry for being mortal," I shot back. "Some of us feel cold and hunger and exhaustion. We can't all be gods who—" I stopped, realizing. "Wait. Can you feel the cold too now?"
Silence. Then, reluctantly: "Yes."
I looked at him properly for the first time since we'd woken. He sat in deep shadows, but I could see him shivering. Actually shivering. A god, trembling from cold like any human.
"This is humiliating," he muttered, but I heard it both out loud and in my mind.
"We're stuck together," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "You need me alive because if I die, you get trapped in eternal darkness. I need you to keep me safe from Lavinia, Daemon, the Celestial Court—pretty much everyone. Can we at least try not to kill each other?"
His laugh was bitter and sharp. "I've existed for three thousand years. I've ended empires. I've never needed anyone." Through our bond, I felt his rage and something deeper—terror at being dependent. "Now I'm chained to a mortal girl who has maybe fifty years left if she's lucky. How am I supposed to—"
He cut himself off, but I'd felt the end of that thought: How am I supposed to survive losing someone again?
The vulnerability in that thought shocked us both.
Morven stood abruptly and crossed the temple to me. Before I could react, he pulled off the dark cloak he'd materialized earlier and threw it at me.
"Put it on before your shivering drives me insane."
I caught the cloak, surprised by the gesture. "I thought you didn't care if I was uncomfortable."
"I don't." But through our bond, I felt the lie. He cared because my discomfort was his discomfort now. Every sensation I had, he experienced too. "I'm being practical."
I wrapped the cloak around myself. It was warm—impossibly warm—and smelled like night air and something else. Something ancient and dangerous and oddly comforting.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"Don't." He turned away. "Don't thank me for basic survival necessities. I'm not being kind. I'm being selfish."
But I'd felt his emotion when he'd given me the cloak. Underneath the anger and resentment, there'd been a flicker of something else.
Protectiveness.
"You know what I find interesting?" I pulled the cloak tighter. "You keep insisting you don't care. But you saved me from the guards. You ran from the Celestial Court instead of letting them kill me to free you. You just gave me your cloak." Through our bond, I pushed the thought: Your actions don't match your words.
"Stay out of my head," he growled.
"Can't. Bond, remember?" I stood up, my legs shaky but holding. "Face it, Morven. Whatever you were for three thousand years—the cold, distant Death God who didn't care about anything—you can't be that anymore. Being bound to me is making you mortal. And mortals feel things."
"I don't want to feel things!" His voice cracked, and silver light flashed in his eyes. "Do you know what it's like? I spent three millennia building walls, becoming numb, forgetting what it meant to care. Because caring hurts. And now you're here, forcing your mortal emotions through our bond, making me remember—"
He stopped, breathing hard.
Making him remember what? Being human? Having something to lose?
"I'm sorry," I said, and meant it. "I know this isn't what you wanted."
"Neither of us wanted this." He sat down heavily on a broken pillar. "But we're stuck with it."
Silence stretched between us. Through our bond, I felt his exhaustion mixing with mine. His hunger matching my own empty stomach. His fear that the Celestial Court would find us again.
"When was the last time you ate?" I asked. "As a mortal, I mean. Before you became a god."
"Three thousand years ago. I don't even remember what food tastes like." He pressed his hand to his stomach. "Is this pain normal? This gnawing feeling?"
"That's hunger. And yes, it's normal. It means we need to find food soon or we'll get too weak to run if more hunters come."
"I don't run from—"
"We literally ran from twenty hunters a few hours ago," I interrupted. "We ran from the Arch-Seraph. We're running from everyone. Can we please stop pretending you're still the all-powerful god you used to be?"
His silver eyes flashed dangerously. For a moment, I thought he'd attack me. Through our bond, I felt his pride warring with reality.
Then, slowly, he nodded. "You're right. I hate it, but you're right."
The admission cost him. I felt it.
"Tomorrow, we find food," I said. "And figure out where we can hide that's safer than this temple."
"You're giving orders now?"
"Someone has to. And between a god who hasn't been mortal in three millennia and a healer who's survived betrayal and sacrifice, I'm the expert on human survival." I pulled his cloak tighter. "We work together, or we die separately."
Morven studied me for a long moment. Then something shifted in his expression—not quite respect, but close.
"You're stronger than you look," he said quietly.
"I have to be. People who loved me tried to destroy me." I met his eyes. "But I'm still here. Still fighting. And I'm going to make them regret ever underestimating me."
Through our bond, he felt my determination. My cold rage that had replaced fear. And surprisingly, I felt his approval.
"Perhaps being bound to you won't be completely unbearable," he admitted grudgingly.
It was probably the closest thing to a compliment I'd get from a god.
Then his head snapped up, eyes wide. Through our bond, pure terror flooded from him to me.
"What? What's wrong?"
"Do you feel that?" His voice was barely a whisper. "Through the bond—something's pulling on it. Someone's found the connection. They're tracking us through our binding marks."
I pressed my hand to my chest where the silver tattoo burned hot. He was right. Something was tugging on the magic that linked us, like someone pulling on a thread to see where it led.
"Who?" I breathed.
"I don't know. But whoever it is, they know exactly what we are now." His face went pale. "And they're coming. Fast."
The temple suddenly felt too exposed. Too vulnerable.
"How long do we have?"
Morven closed his eyes, sensing through the bond. When he opened them again, they were filled with dread.
"Minutes. Maybe less." He stood, pulling me up with him. "We need to—"
A voice cut through the night. Female. Powerful. Familiar.
"Lady Elara! I know you can hear me!"
My blood turned to ice.
"That's impossible," I whispered.
But it wasn't. Because walking through the temple entrance, backlit by magical flames, was someone I'd never expected to see again.
My stepmother, Lady Seraphine.
And she wasn't alone.