“So…draken can conjure clothing out of thin air?” I asked. “Can Primals do the same?”
“Only clothing we’ve worn. It becomes an extension of us.”
“Oh. That makes sense, I guess.” Slowly, I met his stare as bone-deep exhaustion set in. So many things went through my head. “You’re not going to let me go, are you?”
“Never,” he swore.
Disbelief and frustration clashed. “So, you’re going to hold me captive here, then? Against my will?”
Eather flared in his eyes again. “How you remain here, as my Consort or my prisoner, will beyourchoice.”
“That’s not really a choice when it’s the same thing.”
“If you choose to see it that way, then so be it.” He rose fluidly, showing no sign that I had injured him. “Your destiny is not to die at the hands of Kolis.”
My chest rose and fell sharply as the finality of my failed attempt and what it meant settled over me. This had been my one chance. There would be no more, not when he now expected it from me. “Then what is my destiny?”
“To be my Consort,” he said. “Whether you like it or not.”
Anger rose as I stared up at the Primal of Death. I latched onto it because it was far better than desperation and hopelessness. “You mean it’s my destiny to die as your Consort?”
A muscle ticked in his temple as he glared. “There may be another way to prevent your death.”
“Really?” I laughed. “Like what?”
“If I had five seconds of peace and didn’t have to worry about you getting yourself killed, I might be able to think of one.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay. Sure.”
He made a noise that sounded like he was choking on ascream of frustration. I smirked, my gaze falling on the dagger. I reached for it.
“I sincerely hope that whatever you plan to do with the dagger doesn’t involve me,” Nyktos warned as I quickly slid it into my boot.
“Don’t…don’t take it from me,” I ordered, but it sounded more like a plea, which brought heat to my cheeks.
“If I planned on taking it from you, I would’ve done so already.”
I watched him warily. “You’re not afraid I’m going to slit your throat to your spine like you instructed?”
“No.”
My eyes narrowed. “You should be.”
He smirked, brushing his fingers over the cuff on his biceps, drawing forth a thin tendril.
I stiffened as the smoke rapidly spread out in the space before him, quickly taking the form of his warhorse. Odin shook out his black mane as he pawed at the ash-covered ground. I’d forgotten all about the fact that his horse apparentlylivedin his cuff.
“How is…?” I quieted when Nyktos glanced at me.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I muttered, attempting to quash my curiosity about how he could conjure Odin into existence from a silver cuff. I failed five seconds later. “Is that also magic?”
“Primal magic, yes.”
I thought about the chair he’d moved earlier, and the fire he’d started without touching either of those things. “So, he’s not…real?”
“He is flesh and blood.” He was silent for a moment. “I hope you’re not planning to spend what remains of the longest night ever in the Dying Woods.”