him to their world, to deliver him like a stuck pig to the Immortal’s table.
But Ajax knew the terrible truth. Droghan had sent the Hunters after him to die. They were sacrificial pawns in a game that Ajax couldn’t afford to play. He was hanging on to his sanity by a thread, the soul stone in his pocket the only thing that kept him moving, kept him running. Because it was hers.
Angeline. His Queen, lost to him now, turned to ash while he’d screamed in rage. When he saw her go down beneath the Hunters, he’d lost control and ashed over a hundred Triscani trying to reach her. Gods, she’d been beautiful and sweet, highly intelligent and cultured, she had been his ultimate ally at every diplomatic meeting. His one true supporter on Itara, where the idea of a male King after several thousand years of matriarchal heredity had rankled the Immortals and met with resistance.
He’d loved her and she’d loved him back. A gift beyond measure. And he’d been helpless as he’d watched her die.
The stone in his pocket belonged to her. It had to. That was the only explanation that made any sense. He’d been trapped in a living hell, poisoned and chained by males that he loved like brothers and had trusted with his life. They’d kept him chained, with poison burning like acid in his veins for centuries.
He understood why they had done it, but could not forgive them, or himself. They had locked him in the cave and put him in an Itaran stasis pod. But they had left him with the stone, this beautiful black rock that held her Mark. The Timewalker’s symbol broke the smooth perfection of the stone’s surface, and he traced it with his thumb now.
The Shen was an ancient symbol, the Mark of the goddess, a symbol of her eternal protection. Those that carried the Mark on their flesh, the Timewalkers and their Marked Mates, carried her gifts and her blessings. They also served the goddess as warriors of light. The Mark was sacred on all three worlds. His beautiful Angeline had carried the Mark on her breast.
And this stone had saved his life, had awakened him from the dreamless slumber.
As long as he held the stone, he could think, he could function and resist the clawing hunger.
The moment he had risen from his stasis pod, he had summoned the dark and opened a portal to Itara to search for his bride. He was living in his own past, before the battle that had resulted in her death. He’d been determined to find her, to prevent her from dying at the hands of the Triscani.
He discovered that in this version of time, he could not find her. He was convinced that somewhere she must exist. But the Mark on his chest was gone. His kingdom, gone, ruled by a well-established Queen and her seven circles. He had nothing and no one now, but vengeance. So he’d dressed for battle and taken a sword. He had to be very careful not to ash the bastards, but he intended to cut off a lot of their fucking heads.
He’d just have to defeat the Hunters here without draining them dry. He couldn’t afford to absorb any more evil into himself, even if it would give him the satisfaction of leaving nothing but a pile of ash behind. If he did that, eliminated even one of them, he’d be lost again. Deranged, trapped in the dark, and ruled by a thirst for death and chaos that he’d have no hope of being able to control. He knew because he had lived seven hundred years wrapped up in that nightmare. One pile of ash could end the world.
Ajax did his best to ignore the woman and wait. He could feel the Triscani Hunters closing in on his position. He was one of them. He walked in their darkness. They could not hide from him, and he did not try to hide from them.
Which suited his purposes just fine. It made them easier to kill.
This time there were three.
Ajax sent his power out like tendrils through the night, looking for his enemy. Once he tasted their essence, they would not escape. He could track them to the ends of the earth. He could even track them