Sins of the Soul

The sensation was horrific, doubly so because the water in her ears dulled all sound and she couldn’t tell if the roaring she heard was the river, or her own heart pounding so hard it was close to bursting.

She fought to stay conscious, fought against the sharp-edged instinct to inhale, and then her head broke the surface once more. She gasped, coughed, fought to keep her head above water. She couldn’t feel her limbs. They were like dead weight, dragging her down along with her clothes and wet boots and the general lethargy that was sapping her strength.

Fear was her enemy.

Fear was all she knew. Cloying, clawing, over-powering fear that both enveloped and gouged at her as she bobbed along in the dark. Where had the red sky gone? Where had the baked earth gone?

There was nothing there. Nothing.

Then she was catapulted into space, the water sluicing past her, the river roaring so loudly she couldn’t hear the desperate gallop of her heart anymore.

She fell. The air whistled past. No more water. Just a vacuum of empty space, devoid of smell or sound.

When she hit, she cried out. Her landing was anything but soft. She came down on her back, her legs jolting up, her head hammering back against the ground. She saw stars and halos and wild flashing lights, then she saw nothing, heard nothing. Her world went black.





CHAPTER NINETEEN



“DON’T YOU FUCKING die on me. If you die, I will kill you myself.” Kneeling beside Naphré, Alastor shook her again, his fingers digging into her shoulders. But she only lay there, eyes closed, skin pale and cold. He pressed his mouth to hers, willed his strength to be hers. “Don’t you bloody well die.”

One minute he’d been alone and the next, she been there, tossed at his feet like a broken doll. Tossed by whom? From where? The terrain hadn’t changed. The only difference was that Naphré hadn’t been there before and now she was. Every instinct screamed that someone was playing with them, toying with them. He’d seen Sutekh play similar games often enough.

It didn’t matter at the moment. All that mattered was her. He couldn’t lose her. He’d lost much and survived. But he couldn’t lose her.

He reached out with his inner senses, meaning to summon a portal and get her to safety. He touched the energy that surged between Topworld and the Underworld, two separate streams that he needed to combine for a fragment of a second. He reached.

His senses brushed it, almost grabbing it.

He wasn’t strong enough. That was the drawback to his half human, half god metabolism—the need for a constant supply of energy. Glucose. And he hadn’t had that in days. Maybe weeks. He didn’t know how long they’d been trapped here.

Shoving his hand in his pocket, he took out one of his precious mints. Unwrapped it. Popped it in his mouth. The sugar slammed him like a drug, giving him a split-second rush. He reached for the streams of energy with all he had, stretching his power.

What should have been easy—a parlor trick for him after all these years—proved difficult. Impossible. The streams danced beyond his reach.

Something was blocking him. Something that didn’t want them to leave. Something that for the moment was more powerful than he was.

Looked like the portal wasn’t going to be their way out.

He let it go, and focused on Naphré, who lay pale and quiet on the ground. His gut clenched as he looked at her.

She was human. Purely human.

And she was dying.

Desperation and anguish bubbled inside him. He didn’t like the place his fear was taking him, but he couldn’t seem to get his walls in place.

“Naphré.” He gathered her into his lap, held her and rocked and tried to think of what the bloody hell he was supposed to do.

His pulse raced. His thoughts whirled. He’d become so accustomed to relying on his supernatural gifts, he was at a loss to figure out how to save her without them.

Not that he used those gifts to do much saving.

He looked around, frantic. He needed things. Water. Food.

Yes, food.

Feed her. The whisper came from deep in his soul, a dark slither of enticement. Feed her and make her yours.

Feed her his blood. That’s what Dagan had done to save Roxy’s life. It had worked for them. It would work for Naphré.

How long since she had eaten? How long since she’d had anything to drink? If he didn’t feed her his blood, he was letting her die.

But Naphré had chosen not to take first blood. She’d told him that in no uncertain terms.

If he gave her his, he was robbing her of that choice.

What right did he have to do that to her?

Might makes right, his instincts whispered, insidious, powerful. You have the means to control this situation. Do it. Control it.

There were so many ramifications.

Open a vein. Feed her.

He stared at her, traced the tip of his finger along her lower lip, felt the faint gust of her breath on his skin.