Emotion clogged my throat as I stared at Kieran. I reacted without much thought, pitching forward. I didn’t know if he sensed what I was about to do or if he was worried that I was about to attempt to rip his throat out again, but he caught me without falling over, even though he did wobble a bit. He folded his arms around me without a heartbeat of hesitation, holding me just as tightly as I held him. I felt Casteel’s hand on my lower back, just under Kieran’s arms, and the three of us stayed like that for a little while. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“You don’t need to thank me for that.” He dragged a hand up to the back of my head and leaned away enough that his gaze met mine. “It was the least I could do.”
“But that wasn’t all you did,” Casteel said, reaching over and clasping a hand on the wolven’s shoulder. “You made sure we got here safely and kept watch. You did everything we needed and more. I owe you.”
Kieran lifted his hand from the back of my head and clasped Casteel’s forearm as his pale gaze met my husband’s amber one. “I did all that I could,” he reiterated.
Seeing them together caused another swell of emotion. I remembered what had been said in the Chambers of Nyktos about the bonds breaking. An ache started up in my chest as I disentangled myself from Kieran and glanced between them. “Is the bond really broken?” I asked. “Between you two?”
Casteel stared at Kieran, and a long moment passed. “It is.”
The ache in my chest grew. “What does that mean? Really?”
Kieran glanced at me. “That conversation can wait—”
“The conversation can happen now.” I crossed my arms. “Alastir and Jansen said some stuff while I was in the crypts,” I told them, inwardly cringing as I felt twin bursts of anger against my skin. “I don’t know how much of it was true, but neither really explained how me being a descendant of a deity….” I sucked in a sharp breath as I thought of who Alastir had claimed was part of my heritage. Did Casteel already know that? “I don’t understand how that supersedes something that has been around for ages. I’m not a deity.”
“I don’t think we know what you are exactly,” Casteel stated.
“I’m not a deity,” I protested.
“The fact that you are here and not a vampry means that nothing is off the table,” Kieran added. I was so taking that off the table. “But either way, you are a descendant of the gods. You are the only living one. You have—”
“If I hear I have the blood of a god inside me one more time, I might scream,” I warned.
“Okay, then.” Kieran scratched his face as he rose and then sat on the other side of me. There was a faint days-worth of scruff on his jaw. “Because of the blood you carry, the kiyou were given mortal form. Not to serve the elemental bloodlines, but to serve the children of the gods. If the deities hadn’t…” He trailed off with a shake of his head. “When the gods gave the kiyou mortal form, we were bonded to them and their children on an instinctual level that is passed down generation after generation. And that instinctive bond recognizes you.”
I understood what he was saying on a technical level, but fundamentally, it was utterly insane to me. “That’s just… I’m just Poppy, blood of the gods or not—”
“You’re not just Poppy, and that has nothing to do with you not becoming a vampry,” Casteel placed a hand on my shoulder. “And I mean it, Princess. I can’t say for sure that you’re not some sort of deity. What I saw you do? What I’ve seen and heard that you have done? You’re unlike any of us, and I still can’t believe I didn’t put it together when I first saw that light around you.”
“How did you not know?” I looked up at Kieran. “If my blood really is that potent, how did no wolven know what I was?”
“I think we did, Poppy,” Kieran answered. “But just like Casteel, we didn’t connect what we were seeing or feeling when we were around you.”
Understanding crept into me. “That’s why you said I smelled like something dead—”
“I said you smelled of death,” Kieran corrected with a sigh. “Not that you smelled like something dead. Death is power, the old kind.”
“Death is power?” I repeated, not entirely sure at first how that made sense. But then it occurred to me. “Death and life are two sides of the same coin. Nyktos is…”
“He’s the God of Life and Death.” Kieran’s gaze flicked to Casteel. “And this explains why you thought her blood tasted old.”
“Ancient,” Casteel murmured, and I started to frown. “Her blood tastes ancient.”