CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Avis wanted to hold onto that moment forever. But nothing was ever that permanent, and he could feel his strength waning. He knew Clarise could sense it as well. She returned the stone seat to its former shape and slid his arm under both of his to take his weight in its stead.

He breathed out heavily through gritted teeth, loathing the way she had to support him but knowing he had little choice in the matter. Hunched forward as he was, their heads were almost level.

Ordinarily, when his darling wife limited herself to her natural body mass, the dark crown of her Mystallian head barely peeked over his shoulder. She looked so small and delicate in that form, but like himself and any other celestial under normal circumstances, that petite figure could punch through a mortal sun if the situation required it. She grew a third arm to support his waist as well.

Frash and Tilu moved to take Avis’ weight once they reached the conservatorium’s doorway, but Clarise denied them with a sharp frown and they fell into step behind them. Avis smiled to himself, believing it was because she didn’t want to let him go either.

The trip back to their chambers was long and arduous, but not once did Clarise offer to carry him like a baby to speed up the process, and for that alone, he was eternally grateful. Her presence at his side also prevented her family from giving him any crap too, which was an unexpected bonus.

But as they approached the room, it occurred to him that he still hadn’t learned what a blood rage was. Uriel had implied it was the worst of all atrocities and more dangerous than an insane demon.

If Clarise … Avis caught the mental phrasing that suggested she might not and pinched his lips together tightly. Now that Clarise and Columbine were coming with them, he needed to get on top of the risk factor Cora posed to them, especially if it could happen again.

Assuming his stumbling feet would move him in the right direction under Clarise’s guidance, he looked across at the side of her head and nuzzled her braid, just above her ear. “Would you … answer one thing … for me … sweetheart?”

Clarise smiled indulgently, but never once moved her focus from the path ahead of them. “In a moment, beloved. We are almost back to our room, and once you are settled in bed, you may ask me anything your heart desires.”

It hadn’t been an absolute denial, but the reminder of his weakened state had him huffing out a short breath of vexation and he glared sulkily at the stone wall away from her. From beneath his arm, he heard Clarise chuckle lightly. “Do not be that way, beloved. A few more days in bed, and you will be fully able to do anything you wish.”

Yet another hand caressed his face until she had turned him back towards her and he was staring into those gorgeous molten gold eyes which he knew she’d copied from his youngest brother, Chance. “No one from Mystal is able to see you in your current state. They will never know.”

Well, that was at least, something. Avis licked his upper lip and shook his head. “I hate this,” he said, though he deliberately edited out most of the venom to ensure she didn’t think the fault was hers.

She gave his ribs a comforting squeeze and helped him to move forward again. “I know, beloved. The Walk returns you to functionality, but the only real cure for years of neglect and abuse is rest. If it could restore you to perfect health, it would not be much of a punishment, would it?”

Avis nearly stumbled as the ramification of her words struck him, though he recovered quickly. “I suppose not,” he pretended to mutter apathetically, though his brain had surged into overdrive and his heart jack-hammered against his ribcage. The Walk wasn’t real. Not the way he’d been led to believe. Like everyone else that had been forced to do laps of that accursed level, he’d always assumed that the Walk would return him to perfect health.

It’d certainly felt that way at the time, and his suffering had been made worse because he’d believed his peak capabilities were still woefully inadequate against his Hellion masters. But if Clarise was to be believed (and she never lied), the good health he’d felt at the end of each lap was merely an illusion. Something to emphasise the first level’s entrance banner: Abandon all hope all ye who enter here. Sunova bitch, Avis seethed.

Every time they’d dragged him from the Walk to torture him elsewhere, he’d never really been at the peak of his ability after all. They’d just made him think he was. Avis gnashed his teeth. For a race of beings that didn’t have any mind benders in their midst, that trick was utter bullshit! He’d been completely fooled! But Clarise herself was a Highborn Hellion. A ranged shifter.

Surely that has to count for something. “Why can’t you heal me the rest of the way?” he mumbled irritably under his breath.

Clarise emitted a series of shushing sounds. “When we get to our room,” she promised.

Avis fought the desire to huff grumpily at the second denial in under two minutes and only managed to succeed by reminding himself that she loved him enough to leave with him just as soon as he could travel.

That thought flipped his sour mood on its ear and had him grinning like a lunatic, for so long as that was the case, she could drag him back to their rooms by one heel and deny him all day long for all he cared. They were coming home with him, and on that day, he would be the ultimate winner.

A few minutes later, with Frash and Tilu’s help, Avis was once again situated in the comfort of their bed. They’d set his pillows sidewards against the bedhead after he’d made it clear he wanted to sit up, and drew the covers to his waist.

Clarise snuggled into his side with her head resting against his pec and her feet tucked up underneath her. Avis liked her there a lot and curled his arm around her shoulders to ensure she stayed. “Hey,” he purred, rubbing his chin and cheek against her hair and drawing in more of her lavender fragrance.

Clarise chuckled and tilted her head to look at him. “Before you start,” she said with a demure smile, placing a single finger over his lips though her eyes were alight with promise. She flicked her other hand dismissively at the servants.

They bowed as one to the unspoken command and retreated from the room, closing the door behind them. Her eyes never left Avis. “You posed two questions on the way here which I would like to answer.”

Avis frowned, struggling to recall the supposed second question he’d asked. He remembered the one about the demonic blood rage because that was important, but he couldn’t for the life of him think of what else he’d asked.

Clarise almost purred as she lifted her chin and straightened her neck, rolling it from his pec to the platysma muscle near his throat. She reached up and gently stroked his smooth jawline. “You asked me if I could take away your weakness and make you whole again. Remember?”

Avis blinked in surprise. He had? He remembered thinking about it, sure, but he hadn’t thought he’d said it out loud. Clearly, he must have. He snorted to himself. Well, since it’s out there … “Can you?”

Clarise stretched and pressed her lips lightly to his jaw. Not quite where Avis wanted them. “If I am interpreting your question correctly, you are asking for something we commonly refer to as a stimulation wave. It is a process that begins at one side of our bodies and passes through us much like a wave, bringing every atom within us to peak capacity and making us the best possible versions of ourselves physically. It is not a difficult process for us at all, not dissimilar to the way you may hold your breath, but the overall result is guaranteed perfection.”

Avis immediately straightened, mindful not to jostle her. “Oh, yeah,” he said, excited by the prospect of being completely healed in seconds, and by proxy getting the hell out of Hell that much sooner. “That’s perfect. Can you do that to me?”

But his elation was short-lived. He had no liking for the sympathetic look that swept across her face and he appreciated her answer even less. “Avis,” she chided, removing a glove to reveal their marriage bracer, which she placed across his. “It is shifting, and we are married. You know on an essence level we are one, and neither of us may control the physical or mental capabilities of the other.”

Avis mashed his lips together in vexation and rolled his eyes to the curtained ceiling overhead. He should have remembered that. Her hand softly caressed his. “Had we not been married, I could …”

“But we are and so you can’t! That’s just fucking gr—” realising his vile temper had once again hijacked his tongue, Avis snapped his mouth shut and looked sharply at Clarise’s face. Her body wilted beneath the scorn and her head dipped down and away. Oh, hell no!

No way was his queen going to take another second of grief because of him and his stupid temper. He tensed the arm he had around her shoulders and rolled it forward and around, dragging her across his chest where he could cuddle her close.

“That wasn’t fair,” he admitted without apology, as he lightly kissed the tip of her nose. “Did I mention I was a bad-tempered bastard?”

Clarise stared into his eyes. “I do understand your frustration, beloved. I share it. Watching you struggle like this is no fun for me either.”

Snaring a fistful of her gorgeously long, dark tresses, he rolled off the pillows and onto his side until she was partially pinned beneath him. He used his wrist and forearm as a makeshift pillow behind her neck to force her head back and kissed her passionately, prying her teeth apart with his tongue until she allowed him to plunder her mouth.

“I’m not dead either,” he assured her, once he was sure she was as breathless as he was. His other hand slid suggestively over the soft curves of her body. “And in a few minutes, I plan on showing you just how not-dead I am.”

Clarise shivered beneath his touch and her eyes glittered with anticipation. He loved how responsive she was in this form. “Then perhaps you should ask your second question quickly. If it was important enough to bring up on our way here, I would hate for it to distract you at another … inopportune moment.”

Avis chuckled, then sobered. It was that important. “What exactly is a blood rage? I overheard someone talking about it earlier and I’ve never heard the term before.”

Clarise stilled, then arched one beautifully shaped eyebrow. “You and I have very different ideas about what constitutes an important distraction from intimacy, my love,” she said, not even trying to hide her surprise. “But it shall be as you wish. Putting it simply, a blood rage is the term given to a demon who loses all control of themselves in their hatred for someone or something. They are at their most dangerous, because they cannot be reasoned with and must be brought to heel by force.”

Avis had expected a great number of things to be the possible meaning of a blood rage—he had. But, by all the realms combined, this had not been one of them.

All the blood drained from his face and he swallowed heavily, knowing it had nothing to do with his physical weakness. “It’s … it’s just a … temper tantrum?” He could barely say the words, so great was his shock. Clarise laid her hands on his cheeks and when her face filled his vision, he stared deeply into the gold pools of her eyes until he remembered he needed to breathe.

“The demons and even the hellions engage in blood rages quite frequently,” she said, as if he wasn’t having something akin to a very mortal heart attack right in front of her.

For a moment, she appeared confused, but then that confusion gave way to a look of understanding and she smiled, then snuggled against his chest again. “You need never fear such a thing from me, my love. Blood rages are forbidden to the Highborn. They are simply too—common to be tolerated.”

Yeeeaaahhh, Avis wanted to drawl, though he didn’t dare. His body had gone rigid the moment she’d answered and he fought the need to explode at the ridiculous notion with great difficulty; though the unfamiliar restraint nearly killed him. It took a while before he could bring himself to say a word.

“So … I was right before. It really is … it’s … just a temper tantrum?” He hoped the utter disbelief he felt didn’t come through. If the Highborn Hellions were issuing death sentences over temper tantrums—! By the Realms! His entire pantheon would have been wiped out in their first century if they’d had to live by these insane standards.

In fact, Tal, one of his younger brothers, had made a powerbase out of his infamous temper tantrums by becoming Mystal’s God of Destruction! She had to be kidding! Only he knew she wasn’t.

Having no idea of the volatility of his thoughts, Clarise nodded innocently. “Of sorts, beloved. But as I said, it is a low-blood thing and not worthy of your time. Please, do not give it another thought.”

Avis let his breath out in a low, long stream, then rolled them both until he was flat on his back again with her on his chest and held her close.

A temper tantrum. They were going to force him to kill Cora over a realm-damned, fucking temper tantrum.

He closed his eyes and rubbed them with the thumb and forefinger of his free hand.

By the Twin Notes of all existence, he had to get his family out of here.

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

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