Page 138 of Shattered Jewel
There’s a familiar roughness to him, a testament to a life spent battling against odds that were never in his favor. Yet here he is—impulsive, resilient, standing up against tyranny so familiar it’s almost familial.
“John…” My voice wavers.
“Don’t look at me like like you’re memorizing me.” His voice sounds parched with exhaustion. “Because you’ll say my first name to me again. And the next time you do, it’ll be when my face is buried in your pussy and I’m drinking you dry.” He’s panting heavily. “You’re a goddamn miracle, Elara. And I’m not done worshipping yet.”
He pulls away before I can find the words to reply, heading for Kaspian. Taking that as my cue, I pivot and hurry towards Axe.
Axe watches my sprint with an expression caught between gloom and relief on his face.
“Elara,” he breathes out, his voice a husk of itself.
Despite his critical condition, pure willpower pushes him to his knees.
I clamp down on the knot of emotion in my chest and focus on the manacles restraining Axe, casting around for the release mechanism. The rusted iron chafes against my fingertips as I rattle the chain, trying to discern its secrets.
Concentration furrows Axe’s brow as he watches me. His ragged breaths hitch when I send him a reassuring smile, pretending like I’ve done this a thousand times before.
Okay, I’ve done it twice. Third time’s a charm.
Then I feel it.
“Got it!”
The lock clicks open and the manacles land on the ground in a heavy clatter, music to my ears. Axe rubs his raw wrists, flexing his fingers to renew blood circulation.
He straightens beside me, his focus regaining a lethal spark as he lands on the High Sovereign grappling with Orion.
Orion turns, a blur of red velvet. His eyes find Axe’s steely gaze, and for a moment, it’s as if the world stops. There’s a pull in the air—a heavy, saturated charge that buzzes, hums, and thrums along my skin.
A lifetime of absence and longing condensed into a single, electric moment.
“Don’t,” I warn, reaching out to grasp Axe’s arm.
Ignoring me, he straightens, the blood-red cloak of Orion’s clashing with the stark brutality of Axe’s body as he lumbers forward, one manacle still clinging to his ankle, the broken chain dragging behind him.
“Who are you?” Axe demands, though we’re all coming to terms with the obvious truth.
Orion edges away from a bent over High Sovereign, revealing his the full impact of his bare face in the flickering torchlight with sunken eyes, sharp planes, and piercing gray eyes.
He holds out a hand in peace, fingers trembling slightly. “Let me explain, son.”
A sound like tearing metal erupts from Axe. He hurls himself at Orion, a human missile of torn flesh and exposed rage. They clash in a spray of blood and fury, an intricate conflict of violence only Axe understands. Each blow seems to carry the weight of years of abandonment, of unanswered questions and unfulfilled promises.
Orion manages to land several crippling blows. However, each time he does, Axe bounces back with a swiftness that speaks volumes about his resilience. Agony warps both of their expressions, not just from the physical blows, but from the emotional ones as well.
Until Orion retreats.
“Axton...” His voice cracks.
“Where is she?” Axe demands, a frantic desperation underlying his ferocity. His eyes are wild, searching Orion’s face for any sign of deceit.
Orion stands motionless. His eyes—mirror images of Axe’s—cloud over, a tempest of inner turmoil obscuring their depths. He parts his lips, but no sound emerges. Instead, the tendons in his neck constrict, trapping words unspoken.
“Marianne is safe,” is all he rasps out just as the High Sovereign leaps at him from behind, silver flashing.
Orion falls to the floor from the force of the attack, a wet gasp escaping his lips.
But my focus is on Axe, who stumbles back, a look of shock carved onto his face. He watches Orion fall, sees the High Sovereign standing over him with a triumphant sneer below his lopsided mask as he holds up the sacrificial knife he’d managed to grab by the altar.