The Warlord Wants Forever (Immortals After Dark #1)(30)
Author: Kresley Cole

Making her voice firm, she said, "Wroth, I’m sorry, but I could never trust you – " Her words were cut off by a massive arm squeezing the breath from her throat. Not a ghoul. A demon? she thought wildly. A turned demon?

Wroth raised his sword, a savage, killing look in his eyes, but the arm tightened and he froze.

"I wouldn’t do that if I were you," Ivo said as he sauntered to the front of his gang of vampires. "He’ll snap her head right from her neck." Ivo’s red gaze flickered over her. "Now Myst, I thought I told you to wait in my dungeon." To the demon, he said, "She’s not the one."

He narrowed his eyes at Wroth. "So you’re the turned human who took my castle from me. Grenades? Guns? I’ll kill you just for bastardizing our war." He glanced from Wroth to Myst, then back again, smiling to see Wroth’s body seeming to vibrate with tension. "I believe I have something he wants very badly indeed. I’ll take his life in exchange."

The demon held her neck tight in his grip. She struggled against him until she could breathe, but he was unbelievably powerful. He was a turned demon, supposed to be a true myth. Apparently, the Horde had just upped their game. She’d known he’d been up to something…

Wroth could trace away in a heartbeat. They couldn’t get him, unless they had her. Wroth’s eyes were assessing, and she could see him studying the situation.

"You walk into the sun, and I’ll vow to the Lore that I’ll free her. I’ll hunt her again, but for this dawn I vow that she’ll live. If you trace instead, I’ll take her back to Helvita and dine on her perfect flesh every night for eternity."

"Fight me, coward," Wroth bit out, his eyes black with rage, his muscles tense and knotted with it.

"Why would I do that?" Ivo sounded confused. "Fight you for the cards I already hold?"

Wroth was so big and powerful and yet that strength was useless to him now because they wouldn’t fight. She could feel his frustration roiling from his body in waves.

"You know we’ve got the power here. And you know my vow will compel me to release her."

She’d seen Wroth examining the situation, and she saw the exact moment that he determined his options. A calm seemed to wash over him.

"Her life or yours."

One tight nod. "Done." No hesitation. "It is done."

"Catch and release?" Myst sneered to Ivo as he and his gang traced with her back into the shade to ready for the dawn. Birdsong had begun. "Are you kidding me?" To Wroth, she said, "Are you eager to be ash?"

The sunlight hit the tops of the trees, descending inch by torturing inch. He stood sure and so brave, as if he was proud to give his life for hers.

The morning breeze blew his hair from his face. His eyes were riveted to hers.

The sunlight was inches away from him, almost reaching the moss of the great oaks that buckled the feet of the mausoleums. Now she felt frustration as she’d never known. "Wroth, don’t be stupid."

In a low, steady tone, he said, "I love you, Myst."

Feeling erupted in her chest to answer his words. Yes, he’d wronged her, and yes, he was a vampire, but…

The light hit him. He did not close his eyes to the extreme brightness that would have hurt even her eyes.

And she knew it was because he wanted to see her longer.

Soon the intensity of the sun was too great; he fell to his knees, his hands curling in agonizing pain. He opened his eyes once more. Glowing, bare. A last look.

He’s going to die.

They always do.

Just…gone.

"No." Saying the word out loud was like blasting a mountain to free an avalanche. An immortal like him didn’t have to die. He could stay with her. "No, no, no."

"Milaya, don’t fight," he bit out. "It is done."

The demon holding her smelled of rotting flesh. The cowardly gang of vampires smirked at Wroth’s death when Wroth was so much greater than they. How dare they?

She’d waited millennia to love – she’d waited for him – and they dared take him from her. From Myst the Coveted. She screamed long and loud with the shriek her kind was known for. The one that preceded death. The demon cursed and fought to snap her neck, but her muscles had lain in perfect concert and alignment to prevent it.

Wroth struggled toward her, trying to get to her even as he burned as though from the inside. Battling to save her as he died.

He was hers.

She freed her arms and raised them up. Lightning leapt to enter her grasp and filled her body. That they would dare…

The two holding her were blown from her, percussive thunder exploding them from within. Her hand shot down to collect one’s sword just as he was cast into the light.

She struck out, slashing and clawing at the others with the rare gift of direct lightning from the sleeping ones pouring strength into her. She cut through the number, barely flinching when her arm was broken and the butt of a sword cracked her cheekbone. Don’t look through that eye, switch hands. She cut a swath to Ivo, who alone remained.

"And here I thought you were merely the pretty one." With a mock bow, the coward traced.

Arm shattered, face beaten to a pulp, she flew to Wroth. She vainly attempted to cover his body, dragging him into the cool shade even as she bit her wrist open for him to drink. He was unconscious, his body twisting in pain, his skin looking like lava burned within him.

"Seems like we missed the party," Regin said as she and Cara strolled over to Myst. "Why does Myst get to kill all the vampires? No. Really. This was just supposed to be ghouls."

"Myst, what are you doing? We heard your scream and thought it was something important," Cara said. She waved a dismissive hand at Wroth’s writhing form, clearly unable to comprehend why Myst was frantically dragging him with one arm while shoving her gashed wrist at his lips. "The being dies. Leave him."

Regin added, "Oh, for Freya’s sake, Myst. He’s a vampire. Let him fricassee."

Myst shrieked and snapped her teeth at her sisters. Then she screamed two words she’d never uttered in her entire life –

"Help me."

Chapter Thirteen

Wroth woke to wetness on his chest.

Her silky hair tumbled over his arm. When he opened his eyes he realized she was crying over him. Impossible. "Myst?" he rasped.

Her head shot up and she gave him a watery smile that quickly faded. She slapped him, a hard, cracking blow. Then she leapt on him, nuzzling, squeezing, as if she couldn’t get close enough to him, as if she wanted in him.

"Don’t you ever do anything so stupid again." She slapped at his chest, which he was surprised to find was healed.