Daimon (Guardians of Hades #6) - Felicity Heaton Page 0,116
pulled down a slow breath, fighting to steady his nerves, to muster the courage he needed—courage that kept slipping through his fingers.
Daimon tilted his chin up.
He had to do it.
He would do it.
He stared into Meadow’s eyes.
Let every drop of the hatred he felt towards her and his enemy shine in his eyes, every drop of the rage he felt because they had forced his hand, but hid all the guilt and the pain, the remorse that threatened to devour him and shatter his strength.
He was doing this.
He was going to die here.
Daimon focused on his hands, on his power, but rather than attacking, he turned it inward. His blood was quick to slow in his veins, the cold he always felt growing more intense as his head grew foggy, thoughts blurring together as tiredness rolled through his already weakened body.
Panic sparked, throwing his mind and his heart into turmoil, and he clenched his hands into tight fists as he fought it, kept pushing onwards as his instincts roared at him to stop.
That he would die if he kept going.
That survival instinct battered him, had his ice waning even as he tried to keep it building inside him, spreading through him.
He gritted his teeth and pushed through it, desperately shutting out the voice that screamed in his mind. His feet numbed as ice formed over them, slowly spreading up his calves.
Darkness encroached at the corners of his mind and he gasped for air as the cold invaded his lungs, and his heart slowed.
He was drowning.
Drowning in his own ice.
Momentary blackness washed over him and he tipped forwards, jerked backwards when it released him and shook his head.
“Stop him,” Meadow barked as she lunged for him, her violet eyes wild.
He couldn’t let them do that.
Ice formed jagged spikes around him, shooting up to the ceiling. The two furies battered it, fracturing and even breaking holes in it in places, but his power was running at full tilt now, was swift to repair any area that took damage. The walls surrounding him slowly turned pale blue as they thickened, inching towards him. They touched his knees first, met with the ice that had formed over them already.
He struggled to breathe, what little air he could get into his burning lungs fogging in front of his face as he expelled it. His teeth clattered, loud in his prison as ice rolled up his stomach and arms, reached his shoulders.
Sapping the last of the heat from his body as it closed over his chest.
His thoughts slowed, his vision dimming.
Ice formed on his cheeks in the path of his tears as he thought of Cass.
He wished he had taken a moment to speak with her before he had gone to Nemesis.
Wished he had told her that he loved her.
Had seen her face one last time.
Said goodbye to her.
Sorrow washed through him as he realised he would never see his beautiful koldun’ya again, the last thing he felt as the ice enclosed him.
He had finally found someone he truly loved.
And this time, he was the one leaving her.
Chapter 33
Cass stroked Mister Milos, petting the white and ginger cat as she held him in her arms. He purred, the rumbling sound a comfort to her frayed nerves. She tried to focus on him to shut out that unsettling sensation burning inside her heart, but it lingered, tormenting her.
Daimon had been gone too long.
She kept running her right hand over Milos’s fur as her bare feet carried her through the Tokyo mansion, towards the voices she could hear in the main living area of the house.
Mari looked over the back of the cream couch, twisting away from Calistos to smile at Cass as she entered the room at the TV area end of it.
“Have you seen Daimon?” Cass paused at the back of the couch.
Calistos set the console controller down on his lap, looked at her and shook his head. When she looked at Valen who lounged on the other couch, twirling a ribbon of his violet hair around his finger with one hand and hammering at the controller he gripped with the other, the god of lightning gave a half-hearted shrug.
“Sometimes penitence is a bitch.” Valen glanced at her, looking past Eva where the beautiful Italian assassin sat beside him, acting as his pillow as she cleaned a gun, their black fatigues making them blend together. “Maybe he’s chilling out in Hong Kong. Doesn’t want you seeing how fucked up he is and going on a bender.”