Tides of Torment (Immortal Realms Book 2)

“No!” Travion howled, his fingers gripping Sereia’s lifeless body. In all his years, he’d only ever loved her so deeply. And now she was gone. Travion didn’t want to believe the other half of his soul had been taken from him. That she was irreversibly gone.

No. No. No. No.

Tears spilled down his cheeks, and as fury bled with sorrow, the ground quaked violently. “Phaedora,” he whispered, and in reply, the wind roared and skated across the sand. Two cyclones spun on the edges of the island, darkening and growing with his rage. Hatred clouded his senses, and he knew at once that Phaedora could hide behind a book, but he didn’t need such a thing to rip her to pieces.

“My heart, in another lifetime.” Travion brushed a kiss to Sereia’s cool lips and gently laid her down. Every muscle in his body quaked with rage. Every inch of him yearned to obliterate Phaedora.

He scooped up the discarded half of the book and stood.

Phaedora lifted her half of the book, and fear glimmered in her eyes. “No!” She turned away, as if to run, but Travion was going to ensure she would not escape this island—not alive.

The sky blackened, and lightning zig-zagged across the sky, sizzling as the bolts rained down on the sand, blocking the female in.

His knuckles turned white from the pressure of his grip. Slowly, he walked toward Phaedora, his chest rising and falling with each determined step. “Tell me,” he growled lowly, “why I shouldn’t just end you now, because I see no reason to stop.” His fingers flicked through the dusty pages, but his eyes were trained on the female.

Phaedora’s posture stiffened. “You wouldn’t dare kill me.” Her expression shifted from arrogant to pensive, with a hint of doubt.

Travion laughed bitterly, his eyes narrowing on her. “Is that what you think, Phaedora? It has been too long if you believe for one moment I won’t tear you asunder. And, in case you forgot. I don’t need a spell of destruction to end you!” he bellowed, and at the same instant, the ground shook, splitting and giving way around her.

Phaedora meant nothing to him, and considering she’d tried killing him several times, and now his Sereia . . . she deserved something worse than death.

Above them, the winds grew in strength, kicking sand and volcanic ash up around them. The larger cyclone danced over the beach, sucking plant matter and stones up as it careened closer to Phaedora.

Travion’s finger landed in the middle of a page. He glanced down, curious as to what instinct or the pull of magic had brought him to. It wasn’t as if the book was alive, but it wasn’t entirely lifeless either. A somewhat sentient being that could influence a holder and direct them to the most suitable spell.

And this page suited his needs: an insatiable inferno that wouldn’t extinguish until Travion deemed it finished.

“Stop!” Phaedora gathered her skirt and took one bold step toward him. “I have the resurrection spell!”

Travion narrowed his eyes on her. What was her play, instilling false hope within him? “I don’t believe you.” He cast his gaze on the page before him, then murmured the opening lines of the spell. The ground rumbled in discontent, then cracks formed, spider-webbing toward Phaedora. Steam burst from the seams, and even he felt the heat against his face.

“Travion!” Phaedora screamed. “Who knows the book better than me? I swear it on my own life.”

The words gave him pause, only because that was all Phaedora valued—her life, her ways. She was as shallow as they came, but she was not dimwitted. However, to relinquish his hold on the Interitus portion would not bode well for anyone. He’d need to trust Phaedora, and he didn’t trust her to serve anyone but herself. She could easily run away as soon as he handed his half over.

When he didn’t answer, she stepped closer, halting as the sand cyclones threatened to consume her. “She is your lover, this one?” Her gaze flicked to where Sereia’s body lay. “Let me help you.”

“Don’t speak!” he growled, then recited more from the book. From the gaps in the ground, flames leaped at Phaedora, chasing her back from the crevices.

“I didn’t take you for a fool, Travion. I could easily reunite you with her.” She raised her voice over the roar of the wind and growing flames.

She didn’t know him. Shared space nearly three thousand years ago didn’t make them any more than acquaintances now. Then again, if the roles were reversed, it was probably easy to see how much he cared for Sereia, and that made him weak. A weak individual could be controlled. He loathed the feeling and despised the situation he was in. Save the realms from destruction or the one he loved more than anyone from death?

Travion spat in her direction.

“If what you say is true, you will do it before I give you this half.” He sounded desperate even to his own ears, but if there was a chance, he wasn’t going to cast it aside. Together, he and his family could take down Phaedora.

The flames between them died down, and the winds calmed, but the sky still raged on, and the sea lashed waves against the shore in all its fury.

Phaedora pursed her lips and openly contemplated the dilemma. “It seems we’re at an impasse. For I don’t trust you to deliver on your promise.” She tapped her fingers against the front of the cover. “Unless we make a blood pact and we are bound to our word. I also demand the two missing pages.”

Travion wasn’t keen on being bound to anything as far as Phaedora was concerned. He scowled. But was there any other way?

In the blackened sky, griffins screeched, and the beating of their wings drew closer. He heard his nephews shouting back and forth to one another, but their words jumbled in his mind as he considered his options.

“I don’t have them. Your abominations are to blame for that when they sank my ship,” he hissed. The pages were at the bottom of the sea, but he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that was where they’d stay for long. The spelled pages would call to one another, and Phaedora would have her bloody book in one piece again.

She wasn’t to be trusted. And yet, he had no other option. If she chose to confront him so closely, he would be certain to end her life on the spot, even if it cost him his own.

Travion nodded solemnly. “A blood pact it is.” He crossed the distance between them and shoved his half of the wretched book beneath his arm, then crouched to lift a piece of volcanic glass from the ground. As he drew the sharp tip against his palm, crimson bubbled forth and dripped onto the sand.

He offered the glass to Phaedora, unable to keep himself from glaring at her.

“Uncle!” Ruan bellowed from behind Phaedora, his griffin barreling through the air toward them.

She didn’t flinch as she sliced her own hand open, Travion had to give her that. Phaedora gripped his hand, pressing their palms together. She chanted, and Travion hissed as a sharp sting circled his wrist. When she was through, he repeated the words, and she whimpered from the binding too.

“It is done,” she said.

“Get down!” Travion grabbed Phaedora, shoving her to the ground. He derived a speck of pleasure from that but directed a glower in Ruan’s direction. “Cease your assault at once.”

Kian flew in from the other direction, his gaze lingering on Sereia’s body. “Ruan, fall back.”

“No! I won’t let the book get away again.” But as Ruan glanced over at Kian, he finally noticed what his brother had—Sereia. He shifted uncomfortably, frowning.

Travion understood the frustration, and part of him was riddled with guilt, but his overriding pain screamed at him to continue, to follow through with the pact and resurrect Sereia.

Phaedora rose, dusting her skirt off with one hand, then motioned toward Sereia. “Shall we, Your Majesty?” she purred.

This was wrong, bargaining with the wretched female. Yet, that selfish piece of him yearned to have vibrant life shining within Sereia’s eyes once again. And that dismissed his sensibilities.

Travion nodded and led the way. He knelt by Sereia’s side and eyed Phaedora as she lowered herself too. She flicked through the pages of her half of the book and stopped on a page filled with bright words and a smear of aged blood.

Who had this spell been used on before?

“Ah, yes . . .” She placed the book on the ground by her knee, then let her hands hover over Sereia’s still body. The chanting was soft at first, then grew louder. Streams of teal light poured from her fingertips, like a jellyfish’s tentacles, and they dove into Sereia’s flesh, skating beneath the surface.

Tension coiled so tightly in his body that his muscles ached. Time seemed to stretch on endlessly, and nothing was happening. Sereia didn’t twitch, nor did she suck in a breath. Anger replaced hope, and when Travion’s eyes met Phaedora’s, she flinched.

“It takes a moment, Your Majesty.” She hissed his title, but her fingers knotted in the gauzy fabric of her gown.

She was nervous it wouldn’t work? The notion didn’t inspire confidence in him.

“It wasn’t me who made a blood vow,” Ruan growled from behind. “Can’t I end her now?”

As much as Travion may have wanted to, the binding wouldn’t allow for it unless this was a farce. Yet, if it were, it wouldn’t bode well for Phaedora, magically or physically. If it wasn’t by his hand, Ruan would run her through with his blade all too gladly.

“No,” he snapped, squeezing Sereia’s hand. “You will do no such thing, Ruan.” Travion closed his eyes, willing the life back into her. “You cannot leave me,” he whispered softly to Sereia’s still form, then he lowered his mouth to her ear. “Not like this. Do you hear me? Come back to me.” He pressed his forehead against her shoulder, wanting more than anything to scream his rage at the sky, to throw Phaedora to the ground and exact his revenge, but none of it would bring her back.

But then Sereia drew in a soft breath. A movement and sound so subtle that he nearly missed it over the roaring sea.

Travion drew back immediately and stared down at her as if he’d only imagined it. However, her chest moved again. “Sereia!” He cupped her face gently and lowered his ear to her mouth. Whispers of breath washed over his flesh. “By the Sea! Take another breath.”

This time, she drew in a ragged breath that resulted in a hacking cough. Sereia groaned, but her eyes remained shut, and she was unresponsive still.

Phaedora’s eyes glittered with contempt as she stared at him. “My end of the bargain is done, Travion.”

He wished Ruan would cut her down then and there, yet . . . She had saved Sereia.

“A deal is a deal,” Travion grunted, then reached for his portion of The Creaturae. The moment his fingers touched the leather backing, the ground began to rumble. He turned to look at where the volcano had erupted and idly wondered if it was about to blast again.

Phaedora snatched the half of the volume away from him and stumbled backward. The ground split behind her, sending her scrambling off to the side.

“She’s going to get away!” Ruan roared in fury.

“Get to the sky!” Travion demanded, and neither one of his nephews argued further. He slid his arms beneath Sereia’s prone body and started running toward the shoreline, where the cracks hadn’t yet spread.

They hadn’t made it this far to die.