Shadows erupt from my core, and Cali’s fingers land on my arm as the ribbons of darkness coil around Drake’s torso.
“Please,” Calista begs, and a low growl vibrates in my chest. “He won’t say anything else,” she promises, but my shadows squeeze tighter until the traitor’s bloodshot eyes flow with tears.
I bring him to the edge of unconsciousness, then release him, dropping him to the ground.
He holds his stomach, doubling overs before bringing his stare to meet mine.
We both know I’m not letting him off this island.
TWENTY-SEVENCalista
I suck in a deep breath, pushing my torso straighter against the ancient, smooth stone, and shift my attention to the light snores on the other side of the room.
My gaze trickles over the pile of old bedding and drapes on the ground, contoured around Drake’s body. Behind him, Arabella’s eyelashes flicker as she dreams, and I can only hope they are not filled with flashbacks of what happened last night. Her blood-soaked cloak covers her, as she lies on a makeshift bed, made from wooden furniture turned on its side.
The floorboards creak under my heavy boots. Slowly, I walk, careful not to make too much noise. Drake rolls onto his side, his light snores rolling relief through me. He has barely said a word to me since I returned with Azkiel, and Ari only woke for a few minutes to drink some rainwater, before falling back to sleep.
Despite promising to wake Drake two hours ago, so he could take over and be on watch, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Sleep eludes me anyway, my mind racing over the events of the evening.
Ari is the prophesied one. I’ve never been so sure of anything, and I keep the secret to myself. She’s always been loyal to the gods—especially Essentria. My sister will never accept they’re monsters, just like the God of Death. She might even be persuaded to awaken them if it means saving Drake and me. I’m certain she’ll bargain for our survival with them.
My eyes drift over her soft features as she sleeps, and I wonder if she has dreamed of Essentria, too. Death’s truth about the gods using Astraea’s magic to speak with me sets me on edge. Because someone else on this island is also aiding them, and the question is who else the gods have spoken to.
That, or Azkiel is lying to me. Cyna’s sight magic pulls inside of me, as if it is sentient, sensing my thoughts, begging for me to search deeper.
I walk into the adjoining room of the abandoned house. Rain patters against the walls as morning light filters through the window.
I cross the threshold, finding Death slouched over an armchair, his piercing eyes never wavering when he looks at me. Shadows cloak his silver tunic, swirling like snakes over his chest.
One of his legs is propped against the wall, his arm draped over his knee. “I told you to sleep.”
I stand by the doorway, locked in a silent confrontation, both of us refusing to look away first. “You won’t protect them,” I say, gesturing to the room adjoining this one.
“So you’ve come to me for company?” he asks, a lazy smirk settles over his lips.
I unsheathe my dagger, and his eyes track the blade as I slide down a wall, until I’m sitting on the dusty floorboards. “I wanted to ask you something.”
Above me, the rhythmic pitter-patter calms my dark thoughts. I clear my throat, the anticipation in his intense stare sending a shiver down my spine. Everything about Death evokes a rage that threatens to burn me alive. However, I can’t deny that he is the only one that can help me in my predicament. “What will you do if I am not the prophesied one and you find them on this island?”
He shifts his position, his body subtly angling toward me. His hands, tainted with dark magic, rest on his thighs, and he clenches his fingers against his skin when he looks at me. “I will take them off this island, then kill them.”
The blade shimmers as the pale blue of the morning light filters through the window. “Why would they have to die?” I probe, gentler than before, hoping he divulges something he shouldn’t. Although, as I assess his guarded expression, I know he won’t loosen his tongue as easily as before. No matter how much I bait him.
“Nyxara created the prophecy,” he explains, pausing after each statement, as if he’s examining his words. “She will draw them back here.”
“How does she have power still? If she’s asleep?”
His eyes drift to the weathered wooden beams supporting the ceiling, and the crimson splatters painting on the walls, telling a long-forgotten story that happened here. “Their magic is sentient. It lives within every witch and gives them some influence. I imagine they’ve gotten creative with their dreams and magic in the past century and a half.”
My eyes narrow. “How come they have lured no one here before? To free them?”
He doesn’t respond, and stretches his arms out, his hands behind his neck. My gaze falls to the lines of his defined muscles, and those huge fucking biceps.
What am I doing?
“Tell me,” I order, then soften my tone. “If I am to help you, then I need to know everything. Look, if I am who you’re looking for, then that’s a good thing for you. I don’t want to die.”
“Let me take you off this island, then.”
I shake my head. “I won’t leave Ari and Drake. You know that. Besides, you don’t know who took the gods’ bodies.”
He sighs out a breath, giving away nothing in his stoic expression. The morning light dances with his shadows, wisping around his chiseled features. Every slice of darkness that moves around him could easily choke the life out of another.
I recall when they strangled me until I tamed them. He must despise being forced to ally with someone who has some power over him. I bet he’s never known what that’s like. No wonder he hates me.
Every time our eyes meet, magic surges through me. Ever since Ari brought me back, my powers have been haywire. My lids close briefly as I strain them back into my core before looking at Azkiel again.
His gravelly voice resonates in my ears. “Your magic is darkening. If you don’t control it, it’ll consume you.”
“It’s heightened. I don’t know why.”
I curl then uncurl my fingers, finally landing them on my legs, drawing his gaze to my thighs. He shifts position again, his chest heaving, then looks away, but his shadows give him away when one of them snakes outward, seemingly eager to caress me.
His nostrils flare as he reins it back into his body. Silence lingers for a few moments, and then he says, “We will go to the temple.”
“Why?”
“It is my temple, and my siblings’ bodies may be there. I refuse to sit here, waiting.”
