A Fire in the Flesh

The throbbing pain in my throat was fading, and I no longer felt the flames of red-hot agony burning through my body. Despite the warmth and humidity of Delos, the city of the gods, I was now cold, colder than I'd ever been. I thought maybe I was fading because my vision was flickering in and out. I tried to focus on the open doors of the circular chamber I'd awakened in after the Shadowlands siege. In a cage and chained, I had thought I'd seen a large wolf standing there. A wolf more silver than white. A wolf I'd known in my heart and soul was him, the Asher. The one who was blessed, the guardian of souls and the primal god of common men and endings. The ruler of the Shadowlands, my husband, Nyktos, Ash. He'd never confirmed that he could shift forms, but I knew it was my primal of death. And when I saw the wolf, I'd thought he'd come for me. That I would see him, touch him one last time, have the chance to tell him once more that I loved him. That I'd get to say goodbye on my terms. But I didn't see him in the doorway now. He wasn't there. What if he'd never been there? The arms around me tightened, making my sluggish heart race. Kolos, the false king of gods, still held me, likely reeling from the realization of who was in his embrace, who he'd fed on. Is it truly you? Kolos' voice was no louder than a sigh. Tears dampened my cheeks. Were they mine? His? My love, I shuddered. Gods, Ash had been wrong when he said I may feel fear, but I'm never afraid. Because the sound of Kolos simply speaking brought an avalanche of terror. It didn't matter that it was only Sotoria's soul inside me, that I wasn't her and she wasn't me. He terrified both of us. Two leather-clad legs suddenly appeared in my line of vision. My gaze lifted, moving over the shadowstone daggers strapped to his hips. Light brownish blonde hair brushed the collar of a black tunic. The primal of war and accord had been facing the doors. The traitorous bastard who'd brought me to Kolos must have seen Ash if he'd been there, right? In his wolf form, he was massive, larger than any wolf I'd ever seen. Unless he'd never been there in the first place and I'd hallucinated him. My chest hollowed and, gods, the swell of sorrow was an unbearable pressure, threatening to crush me. Your Majesty, Ates twisted sharply toward us. She's not well, he said. She's close to death. You have to be able to feel that. You need to take those embers before she passes. Another voice urged, one that carried a soft lilt. The Revenant, tell him. One of Kolos' works in progress. Take them. The embers are the least of your concerns. Ates interrupted, speaking directly to Kolos. She is about to die. There was no response from the false king. He just, gods, he just held me, his large body trembling. Was he in shock? If so, that made me want to laugh, which meant I too was likely in shock. If she dies with the embers, they die too, along with everything you've been working toward, Callum insisted, drawing my attention to him. He was blurry at first, but then came into focus. The Revenant was golden all over. His hair, his skin, and the elaborately painted mask, shaped like wings, that swept down from his forehead to his jaw on either side. Take them, my king. Take them and ascend as the primal of life and she will be lost, Ates cut in. Your Graeca will be beyond your reach. Graeca, it meant life in the old primal language. It also meant love, but I thought perhaps it had a third meaning, obsession.