The remaining raindrops descend from the tall branches, creating a gentle pitter-patter around us as the storm from earlier moves further away from the island. As we reach an abandoned house nestled within the heart of the forest, I let out a sigh of relief. The stone statues by the door are saturated with the remnants of rain, giving them a shimmering, wax-like appearance.
Swinging loosely on its hinges, the front door creaks with each movement. As I journey ahead, the unmistakable sign that my ancestors who inhabited this place worshiped Death peeks out from the surrounding outline: the twisted stone faces of Phovi with empty eyes that follow my every step.
I’m grateful they are just statues. I can’t fight anymore, not for at least a few hours.
I peer into the darkness of what was once a window, now just an empty frame where shards of shattered glass remain, their grimy, jagged edges pointed out in warning.
Cracks in the structure are filled by roots, their tips curling out over the gray-brick like fingers, strangling it into submission.
Drake climbs the two steps to the door, then lowers Arabella onto the doorstep. His hands rest on the black railing by the entryway as he leans over, his exposed skin glistening with sweat. “We need water,” he says after a minute, and I nod in agreement, my eyes already searching the area for long leaves that might have caught the earlier raindrops.
“I’ll find some. You get her inside and rest.”
“I’m not leaving you out here alone,” he retorts.
“I’ll stay close. Just get her inside.”
I pace toward a towering plant with oversized, luscious green leaves, and kneel. Small pools of water have formed in the sunken areas. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. I lick my dry lips, then drain a leaf, the water doing little to remove the taste of death in my throat.
Plucking the leaf from the plant, I scrape together more raindrops, scooping them into it before slowly rising. I pause for a moment and stare at the forest as the intensity of our first few hours of The Harvest sinks in.
Three are dead. Two by my hand, one by my sister’s. Gods know how many else are gone. Seeing Ari being forced to do something dark, pulls on my heartstrings. I shake the feeling away, focusing instead on the one thing I cannot be distracted from: survival.
A twig sounds from within the trees, and I crane my neck, surveying the darkness. Decay magic readies in my fingers, its energy thrumming through my body with unparalleled intensity ever since I woke up.
I ready myself for another attack. Someone must have followed us. I won’t lead them to the house, not with Ari unconscious.
Another twig snaps, then footsteps pound behind me.
TWENTY-FIVECalista
Leaves crunch under the heavy thumps of my boots as I race over the uneven ground and through the maze of shadowy trees, sensing whoever is chasing me approaching swiftly.
An arm wraps around my waist from behind, tugging me against a hard body. The person’s icy fingers are around my mouth. Decay magic sizzles, then seeps into the person’s arm, and I smile under their hand before I notice they do not turn to ash.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” a voice whispers against the top of my ear, and I freeze.
My heart pounds as Death’s hand lifts from my mouth, and I push against his biceps until he releases my body. I spin to face him, teeth chattering as my eyes bulge.
“You!”
“Me,” he mocks, his silver stare matching my intensity.
My hand darts to my hip, gripping the hilt of the dagger. “What are you doing here?”
He stills, his brows creasing as he stares at me with a chilling pointedness. “What did you do with them?”
“With whom?”
He closes the gap between us until I am shrouded in his shadow. “Do not play with me again. I will break our oath. I do not care.”
I look up, my chin grazing his hard chest. “Still threatening to kill me?” I laugh, then bring the blade to his throat because I have little to lose.
He leans into the blade, smirking. “Go ahead, Poison.”
“You’re fucking insane,” I say, half-laughing, pressing the blade deeper until droplets of blood form.
After a few moments of silence, he pushes the dagger away from his neck as if he is swatting a fly. “You need to leave,” he states.
“We’re not in Dahryst,” I point out. “It seems I was not the only one who wasn’t paying attention to the details during our deal.”
“You distracted me,” he growls. A vein in his temple throbs, and I trace my gaze over his chiseled features.
I watch him closely as he flexes his fingers, his untapped power swirling in those eyes, as if it may explode at any moment. “You look flustered.”
“I’ve had a bad night,” I spit, tightening my grip around the dagger.
He steps closer, swallowing any distance between us. Our fingers brush together, and his intense stare latches onto mine. “You will leave here now. I will take you to shore.”
“Why do you care if I am here?” I ask and take a step back, my heart pounding. “Just tell me about this damn prophecy. Does it have to do with The Harvest?”
He lowers his chin, glaring down at me, and for the first time, I see the ancient darkness in his silvery eyes, an evil so pointed and deadly that sends a chill to my bones. “Fine.” His tongue darts between his lips, wetting them. “Do you think me a monster, Poison?” he drawls.
“Yes.”
“Then the last thing you want is for the other gods to awaken.”
I blink twice, the statement throwing me back “Awaken?”
