Murmuring a small, groaning sound of dismay, Ashul stalked back toward the fallen form of his mate and crouched low, gathering her into his arms. His chest rumbled softly as he tucked her up against him, and he brushed her soft hair back from her face with his hideous hands. She appeared to be sleeping, and yet inside she was an empty vessel without a trace of true life, the spark of her residing within him instead of where it belonged.
The constant whisper of the leash was gone in that moment. He was getting a true taste of the freedom that he had craved when he first awakened. A small part of him, despite his love for his mate, had wondered what it might have been like, and yet now that he had… he found it bitter.
He did not want it. He wanted his female by his side. He wanted to be tethered to her in truth for all of their long lives together. Leaning forward, he pressed his fangs against her lips and his tongue slipped down and dipped into her mouth as he simply let go and called his mate back to him with all his being. He felt himself thin out and wither away as if he were decaying where he sat. He did not fight it but embraced it. If he died, so be it. He could not live without her.
A soft gasp fanned against his mouth, and his eyes opened, meeting the pale gaze of his female staring straight up at him. Her lips trembled and curved as she raised her hand to finger the locks of his hair.
His hair? He licked his lips and laughed. He was whole and himself again. Lifting Robyn higher in his arms, he crushed her against him until she laughed in protest. A laugh that he silenced with a kiss, his tongue delving deep into her mouth to claim her anew. His mate. When he finally released her, she grinned up at him, her eyes sparkling with love.
“I take it the lich is dead?”
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug and schooled his features into a blank mask. “No, he is sitting two feet away, politely waiting for us to finish. I believe he has voyeuristic tendencies, so if you want to fuck right now and just forget that he is there…”
She laughed and shoved at him as she climbed out of his lap and onto her feet. “Very funny, asshole.”
“There is that mangling of my name again,” he murmured with a chuckle, delighting in the smirk she turned on him.
Straightening the hem of her tunic that peeked out from beneath her vest, Robyn made her way over to the lich’s corpse, leaving Ashul to stand and follow after her. To his surprise, and perhaps a small measure of disappointment since it was no longer anywhere near impressive, the remains had returned to their original form, the necromancer’s ruined face staring up at them with his one intact eye. Ashul cast a worried glance to his mate. He had not considered this. The dead lich was not pleasant to look upon, given that the male’s head was also severed and its jaw hanging from a mess of torn muscle.
To his relief, his mate toed the head, her face hardening. “Want to grab this, Ashul? It’s not much farther to the monastery. Time to finish this. And I’m not going to be asking.”
A slow, terrible grin stretched over Ashul’s face, and he chuckled as he dipped and grabbed the severed head by its hair. He had never been happier with an order. “It would be my pleasure, my love. Lead the way.”
Robyn returned his smile, and it widened as there was a sudden rush of cracking sounds that drew their attention followed by an annoyed chitter. Deroxas fluffed out his tail and rushed over, his small body hopping lightly on the corpse.
“There you are, my friend,” Ashul announced with pleasure and held out his arm so that the squirrel could hop onto it.
Though his mate rolled her eyes, there was an undeniable glint of amusement and pleasure there as she took his blooded hand in hers. Together they struck out deeper into the woods, the mist rapidly dissolving now that the necromancer was dead.
Soon this part of their story would be over, and they would be able to begin anew again.
ChapterTwenty-Five
Robyn’s mouth hardened as they approached the tall doors of the monastery. There were no guards, but the monastery did not require them. The monastery was surrounded with deep pits filled with bones from skeletons that the Grandmaster had summoned to rebury themselves in guard of the monastery at its completion. She had always felt conflicted about that, but right now it made her life easier. There was no living person she had to get past with Ashul, and the sleeping dead would recognize her as she undid the carefully placed wards that would have summoned them against trespassers.
Exchanging an eager look with her mate, she threw open the doors and entered. A novice necromancer with the sigil of Saturn still fresh on his brow slowed and turned toward them with a frown as his eyes flicked to Ashul. This was it.
“Mistress Robyn? That thing should not be in here,” he protested, coming at her at a hurried pace.
She said nothing, keeping her head down as she pretended to stare at the stone floors as they walked toward him. Without even pausing, she lifted a hand, brushing his cheek with her fingers as she yanked on his lifeforce, draining his energy away. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he crumpled to the ground—very much alive but safely out of the way, his energy reviving her own spent power further.
They didn’t slow as they stepped around him and headed up the long staircase. Students peered at them from the doors that led out to the main hall, but no one else approached them. There were seldom seasoned necromancers in the monastery beyond the teachers and the Grandmaster, but even those watching over the children seemed hesitant to intervene after one steely look from Ashul and the severed head clasped firmly in his claws.
Was she mistaken, or was that a flash of relief she detected on their faces? She tore her gaze away and continued up the curving staircase, passing each floor until they arrived where it terminated at the Grandmaster’s door.
The High Necromancer and Grandmaster Gavvy stood as they entered, his brows dropping in a fierce scowl.
“Robyn, you look like you crawled from the deep pits of the dark abodes. What is the meaning of this intrusion? You know how this is supposed to be done.”
“I do apologize for the disruption, Grandmaster,” Robyn replied, waving back her testy mate, “but I could not wait. My situation is a unique one for which my training did not offer any proper resolution.”
“Unique, you say?” Confusion drew a heavier scowl from the Grandmaster. “It is the dead. You resurrect them and bring them here for transference. It is not a complicated process, which you would know if you had ever carried out that particular duty rather than entertaining the masses with the messages from the departed souls.”
Robyn winced as the comment found its mark and stung. She did not rebut it, but at her side her mate growled in offense. The Grandmaster’s gaze flicked to Ashul in response, and surprise registered on his face. “A drow! You resurrected a drow. This should not have happened.”
An exasperated sigh escaped her. “That’s what I keep hearing and what I was always told, but as you see, it did. But first, we have something of yours.”
She nodded to Ashul and he grinned, extending his arm, lifting Sebastien’s mutilated head high before allowing it to drop on the Grandmaster’s desk. The High Necromancer shot back, knocking his chair over in the process. He stared down at the head and swallowed, yet a look of relief relaxed his wizened features.