Biting her bottom lip, she tentatively reached in, tracing a pulseline. His wings had flared uncontrollably, embarrassing him, making the back of his neck heat.

“There,” she murmured with a grin. “You’re not so scary, then. What’s it like to fly?”

He took her hand. “I could show you.”

And Thronos remembered those agonizing days after his fall, when he’d fought not to succumb to his injuries. He’d heard his mother’s voice saying, “Don’t you understand what she’s done to you?” He must have been calling for Melanthe. “What her kind have taken from us? Your father is gone.” Then, lower: “And so too will I be.”

He remembered attempting to fly once more; his atrophied wings had been unable to support him. The humiliation had burned worse than the unbearable pain. He’d ignored the whispers when his people had dubbed him their “tragic prince,” forever cursed to desire the wicked sorceress who’d nearly murdered him.

He’d told himself it would all be worth it—once he had Melanthe again.

Bile rose in his throat as he remembered seeing her as a woman for the first time. He shook away the memory—lest I murder her.

For centuries, he’d vowed she would be worth all his pain. He craned his head up at the trunk of this tree.

Never forget. . . .

SIX

Lanthe woke to the feel of her stomach lurching as her body tumbled from the tree.

She unleashed a scream, fumbling to latch onto a limb; her arms wouldn’t respond, filled with pins and needles. Falling! The drizzly fog was so dense she couldn’t see what was below her—

She landed with an oomph.

Thronos had caught her in his arms. Breathless, she stared up at him as his wings held them aloft.

After the freezing night she’d just spent in the tree, his body was a hot haven. Warmth from his damp chest seeped into her, dulling some of her alarm.

Yesterday she would’ve sworn she could never sleep with a Vrekener nearby. But apparently, she’d been out.

As rain softly fell, his gaze roamed over her, and when his eyes began to glow with something other than rage, she swallowed. Though she was loath to admit it, chemistry sparked between them.

She might be the bitterest necessity, but his instincts were doubtless screaming inside him, commanding him on a loop: MATE FEMALE!

Which was never going to happen. A: She didn’t do males she hated. Just a rule she had. And B? She was in the fertile time of her infrequent Sorceri cycle, could all but look at seed and get knocked up.

She had to trust that he wouldn’t force her. She wished she could probe his thoughts, reading his mind, but her collar prevented it. He’d probably developed mental blocks anyway. . . .

Her gaze was drawn behind him, and her lips parted.

While she’d dozed, he’d clawed slashes into the tree. The marks were all around the same size, lined up and patterned along the trunk.

She’d bet there were roughly five hundred slashes, one for every year he’d gone without his mate. “You’re insane,” she whispered. She’d been around enough crazed males to last an immortal lifetime. She gazed up at this one with wary eyes.

She recalled the things she’d told him last night—I’d do it again! Maybe she oughtn’t to poke the bear so much.

Yet even as he drew his lips back from his fangs, he seemed less frenzied today; still simmering, but perhaps the night had been cathartic for him. “You’re one to speak of insanity, when your line is tainted with it.”

Had he found out about her mother, Elisabet? Or just assumed this because Omort came from Lanthe’s family? She averted her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Untruth,” he grated. “Tell me another, and I’ll throttle you.” He shot into the sky.

“Where are you taking me?”

He headed north away from the coast back toward the island’s interior. Or maybe he headed south. East?

He didn’t answer her question, asking one of his own: “If you believed yourself to be targeted by Vrekeners, why not communicate with me in our few encounters?” He sounded almost normal.

“You always looked murderous. I couldn’t be sure that you weren’t on board with their plan to out and out kill me.”

“On board to murder my fated mate?” he said, as if she’d spoken nonsense.

“So you’re saying you had no idea that we were targeted?”

“I know what you’re trying to do, and your divisive tactics won’t work. I sought—and received—the sacred word of Vrekener knights that they would visit no harm upon you or your sister. I will always believe that over the accusations of someone like you.”

“You made them vow that?”

“I knew well that Sabine’s death would destroy you. I wanted revenge against you, not against a broken shell of a mate.”

Though this was surprising to Lanthe, it didn’t change their situation today. “It happened, Thronos. Whether you want to believe me or not.”

“You sound like you believe what you’re saying. No doubt, typical Sorceri paranoia. Your kind are notorious for it. You probably mistook a Volar demon for a Vrekener.”

“That’s the other reason I never tried to communicate with you—I knew you’d never believe me.”

On edge, Thronos didn’t reply. He just scented other immortals. They must have overrun even this farthest edge of the island.