At the plea in her eyes, at the sound of my name spoken on a fearful whisper, I instantly snap out of my stupor.
I flick a glittering orange palm to shoot an orb of fire towards Amara, but it vanishes with a bored swipe of her hand. Kace and Griffin rush her from the sides. She flicks both hands and diamond chains spear from her palms, shooting towards them and binding their arms and legs, both tumbling to the floor with a loud smack.
Sprinting towards her, I whip up a hand and a stream of fire streaks towards her. It vanishes. I raise the other hand and another flamed stream flashes towards her. That one vanishes as well. I do it again and again and again, rapid firing one after another as I rush forward. The fire never touches her, but with every swipe of her hand I'm that much closer.
When I'm only a sword's width away, I raise both palms with a roar and blast into her, the orange flames coalescing into a massive funnel of fire.
Unable to vanish my assault with just a swipe, Amara braces her feet and holds up both hands to keep me at bay. The flames billow out and begin to lighten as I blast into her with one last surge of power. Releasing my Gift, I quickly unsheathe the sword from my back and swing it up and over my head, aiming for the crook of her neck as I slice downward.
But before my blade can even graze her skin, a small, leather clad foot suddenly rams into my chest, flinging me across the room to slam back against the ward.
Feeling like my chest has been caved in, I wheeze in a breath and push off the ground to stand, but I'm halted by the obsidian and starlight dagger pressed against my throat.
“As you can see, Amara’s wards are more powerful than your Gods Blessed’s,” Lena says in that lilting, raspy voice from where she’s crouched before me. “It cannot be dismantled by anyone or anything. Not your Wardbreakers, not your fire, not even in her death. If you had managed to kill her, they would have been trapped indefinitely.”
Looking into those glimmering, amethyst orbs, I'm baffled as to how blind I was. How could I ever have thought she was anything remotely human? The way she tracks my every motion. That young, yet ancient depth that simmers within. Even the color was a sign all in itself. This abomination with her cursed face and bewitching eyes and enchanting scent could be nothing less than the predator she is. The predator she has always been.
“You will join me in the mountains,” she orders, her features sharpened for all but those plush, heart-shaped lips. “I will show you the path to the weapon. Once we return, Amara will release them.”
I bare my teeth at her. “How can I trust you to keep your word?”
She lifts the hand not holding the dagger and grazes her fingertips over my face. My brows, my cheekbones, along my jaw, my bottom lip. She then skates that hand down to flatten above my pec, digging the dagger deeper into the ball of my throat as she presses up against me and brushes those blood red lips against mine in a faux tender kiss, sharing her breath with mine as she whispers, “Because you have no other choice.”
Feeling her breasts crushed against me, her scent invading my nostrils, the taste of her breath on my tongue, I feel the something that she broke inside me change, twist and deform, morphing into a volatile, convoluted mass of rage and darkness, reforming me into the monster so many claim me to be.
I grab her by the wrist and snap it back, the dagger falling from her grip with a startled yelp as I wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze. Her mouth rounds into an O, her eyes widen and begin to glow, and fangs snap out as she bats at my hands.
Shouts sound all around me. Hands tug at my arms and shoulders, ripping out my hair. But I notice none of that. All I hear are my own screams of hate.
Because I do hate her. I hate her for betraying me. I hate her for imprisoning my family. I hate her for forcing me to do this, and I hate the feel of her blood slickening my fingers from where I've torn open her wounds. I hate that I already miss her laugh and her touch and our once vibrant, but now blackened bond. I hate that she made me love her and I hate her even more that I still love her. I hate that I can only roar my rage, my pain, and my hate as I watch the ungodly, unnatural, yet breathtakingly beautiful glow in her eyes begin to dim.
But what I hate her for the most is my inability to truly hate her at all.
“Darius, stop!”
Adelphia’s shrill cries finally break through my haze and I look up, seeing Tristan with a dagger pressed to a sobbing Aurora's throat and Griffin and Kace struggling against diamond binds. Snapping my gaze to the side, I find Zander with glowing eyes and gilded veins crawling up his neck and into his jaw, with a glittering gold palm pressed up against the ward. Beneath that shimmering hand flattened against the ward is a cyclone of gold flames, whirling around the screaming, hunched over forms of Theon, Aerin, and my mother.
I toss Lena aside, her head bouncing against the floor as a mortal-appearing Amara drags her onto her lap.
Watching Lena cough and sputter, grazing her fingers over the blood smeared, black and blue fingerprints marring her neck, I force my hands to remain still, ignoring the warring feelings of hate and guilt at the sight.
Lena moves to all fours, trying to stand but stumbles. Amara reaches for her, but she swats her hand away, those amethyst orbs boring into mine as she rises to her feet.
“Amara will…” Lena's voice cracks, her voice hoarsened to a mere whisper as she addresses Adelphia. “Amara will give you and Theon full access to your chambers. And as an act of good faith, we will release your guard. He can come and go through the ward as he pleases.”
Aerin looks to Adelphia for approval before hesitantly sticking a hand through the diamond ward, then even slower, stepping outside its perimeter, giving Adelphia a brusque nod on the other side.
“I suggest you keep the number of people who are aware of your imprisonment to a minimum,” Lena says to Adelphia. “You have many enemies within your kingdom. More than you know.”
Lena pivots to face me, holding my gaze for a long moment. Neither of us say anything as we stare at one another. Her expression shifts and contorts, torment suddenly flashing over her face, but it's gone so fast, I’m sure I imagined it.
“Go pack,” she says, her features hardened and unfeeling once more. “We leave at dawn.”
Then she turns her back on me and strides toward the door, Amara, Tristan, and Zander following at her back.
Epilogue
Ihave an itch. A tickle. Right on that narrow strip of skin that separates my nostrils. It's been there for some time already, strengthening in its annoyance by the second. But I make no move to scratch it. Not even a twitch of a finger. Only a fool would dare to shift their attention from beneath that arctic, impenetrable stare. And I'm no fool. But it appears that I'm surrounded by them.
A sniff.
“Quiet!” Garth barks from beside me, kicking out at the trembling human.
The human cries out, toppling over and catching herself with her bound hands, but does as she’s ordered, sitting back on her heels and bowing her head.
Gods, I hate him. I hate the cold and this fucking place and the beings lining the wall. Seeming to be carved from the very same ice outside these slate palace walls, they don't even move. Don't fidget or shuffle. For all but the swirling, ruby flecked shadows marking their cheeks, they're frozen sculptures, staring at me with unnatural glowing eyes. Feeling the frigid burn of those stares burrowing all the way to my bones, a shiver wracks through my body and I instinctively huddle into my fur cloak.
Then I stop myself and straighten my shoulders, refusing to show any more weaknesses to these demons. They already look at me like they're salivating for my blood, moments away from pouncing on top of me and claiming my soul for themselves. No, if I want to make it out of this cavern they call a throne room alive, I won't move so much as a single muscle as I force my gaze to remain fixed on the bare chested man sitting upon the throne of bones, bones with curved points dipped in onyx, the same bones in the crown that circles the man’s head.
“More humans,” the King of Brecca says, passing his icy gaze over the two dozen bound humans kneeling at our feet. “I gave your lord explicit instructions to bring me immortals and fae in this batch.”
“This is what our lord was able to procure,” Garth says with a boastful lift of his chin, no sign of reverence in his tone.
The King's lips flatten. “My goddess will not be pleased if your lord decides to renege on any more of my terms-”
“We would have procured those who are gifted if your Soulless had managed to get past the human district,” Garth cuts in, sneering up at the King.
Yep, surrounded by fools.
