Rune Awakening

by Genevra Black

  “Right.” She raised a brow. “What does this have to do with your hand?”

  Marius snorted. “I’m getting to it. You’ve surely heard of Fenrir?”

  “The name sounds familiar.”

  “The wolf-son of Loki. Tyr loved him, became attached to him, so he convinced Odin to let Fenrir stay in Asgard with him. But only Tyr was brave enough to feed the wolf. Then the gods’ favored seer foretold that Fenrir would eventually become vicious. He was growing rapidly, so they decided to fetter him. The gods tricked Fenrir into the bonds by assuring him that a wolf of his size and strength could surely break through them—and if he couldn’t, they would set him free.”

  “Trying to trick the son of a trickster god?”

  Marius smiled. “Exactly. Fenrir insisted that one of the gods show their good faith by putting their right hand in his jaws. Again, Tyr was the only one brave enough.”

  “Ah,” Edie said. “Then I’m guessing he lost his hand.”

  “And his honor, in breaking an oath. But he did it for the greater good, and Fenrir remains where he was bound to this day,” he finished, glancing down at his right wrist. “It’s a rite of passage when someone graduates from an adherent to a vivid. It’s a show of devotion, and it helps in channeling our powers.”

  “Right. The radioactive man,” Edie mumbled, smiling and letting herself relax a little. “What if you decided you wanted to do something else with your life?”

  He said nothing, just continued to lead her.

  “I guess you couldn’t get your hand back.”

  Still, silence.

  After a while, Edie brushed her bangs from her face and came closer, so her chin was almost resting on his shoulder. It seemed easier that way, to keep her voice quiet when she asked, “You all right?”

  Marius didn’t change pace or pull away, just leading her along to the slow music. Finally, he said, “I should kill you,” and even though his words were concerning at best, his tone told her that his heart wasn’t in it.

  She didn’t move away. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t, to be honest.”

  Her comment didn’t garner the laughter she’d been hoping for. He remained stoic and troubled, his thick brows furrowed in deep frustration. “I should bring you to the temple, bring you to justice.”

  “ ‘Justice?’ I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “You’re not supposed to exist. You’re a hellerune. Your kind has proven that you’re dark. Light is supposed to wash out the dark.” Marius’s head moved a fraction, so their cheeks were practically touching. He was so warm. He was talking in her ear now, and it made her shiver.

  “I didn’t ask to be this way.”

  “Neither did Zaedicus. He was a light elf, once. The darkness twisted him.”

  Edie moved her head back to look at him, brows and mouth drawn, but didn’t pull away. “You have to know that’s not true. You have to see the difference between me and him.”

  His face, his eyes, said that he already did, but he mumbled, “I don’t know.”

  She almost couldn’t bear the sadness in his face. What the hell was going on in that head of his, that he had to do these backflips to justify what he’d been taught his whole life? The hand on his shoulder crept to the collar of his doublet, which peeked past the cloak’s wolf pelt. “Not everything is so black and white,” she whispered.

  “Some things are.”

  Edie was about to protest. There were so many things about this world she didn’t know, and maybe he was right; maybe there were some things that were cut and dry. But not this. Not her, not Cal, or a thousand other innocent creatures of “darkness.” She wanted to convince him—thought maybe she had a chance, now, alone with him in the silence.

  Then the silence was broken.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The explosive sound of shattering glass in the ballroom ruptured the quiet on the balcony and filled the air with shrieks and panic. Edie and Marius jumped away from each other in surprise.

  “What the hell?” Edie breathed, looking toward the doorway. They both listened as the glass continued to shatter and the screams spread. The skinny shaft of golden light was interrupted as the black forms of fleeing guests rushed past the balcony doors.

  Marius rushed ahead first, through the door, with Edie following close behind. They both kept close to it, pressed up against the crystal as panicking partygoers stampeded past them.

  “What’s happening?” Edie asked over the commotion, furrowing her brow as she looked to Marius.

  “I don’t know. But look.” He nodded to the golden doors ten yards from them on the second tier, the ones Zaedicus had come through. People were crowding around them, unable to go through, trampling and climbing over each other. “Someone locked everyone in.”

  Edie was finally able to find a break in the fleeing crowd and tore through, leaning against the railing of the mezzanine and looking out at the ballroom floor, trying to find the source of the exploding glass. It took only a second.

  The ungodly-massive arched windows on the north wall had been shattered completely, and though shards still stuck in the pane here and there, most of the glass was spread across the ballroom, either on the floor or embedded in furniture and people. Smoke—a horrible, hazy, unearthly smoke—seeped in through the windows, seemingly from outside.

  Edie’s mind began to race. Where were Satara and Cal? More importantly, where was Mercy? She left Marius without a word, her momentum the only thing keeping her steady on her high heels as she ran. She pushed past the valkyrie in the swan dress, who was nursing amethyst-colored cuts on her arm, and rushed down one of the golden staircases, eyes darting wildly around the room. Above her, she could hear the chandelier tinkling, swaying gently; all around her, people whimpered and cried out for their friends and wondered aloud what was happening.

  “Edie!”

  She whipped her head around when she heard her name, and relief washed over her when she saw Mercy standing there, held tightly in Fisk’s arms. Edie rushed to her friend and looked around, spotting both Satara and Cal coming toward them from opposite directions.

  “What happened?” Edie asked, looking from Mercy to Fisk.

  Mercy shook her head. “Those huge windows just … exploded inward all of a sudden.”

  “Are you all right?”

  She half-smiled and held up her arm, which had several nicks on it but seemed to be the only part of her that was injured. “I’m fine....”

  “That smoke’s bad news,” Cal rasped as he came up behind Edie. “You smell that? It’s like acid.”

  The chandeliers began to flicker, and the large one above their heads died completely, throwing the ballroom into partial darkness. Shouts rose in a wave. While everyone looked up, trying to make sense of what was going on, Edie trained her eyes on the smoke as it billowed higher and crept closer. In the darkness, she could see little lights peering out at her within the mist, almost like....

  A howl pierced the panicked murmur of the crowd around them: a long, high-pitched cry that was somehow so familiar it sent a chill up Edie’s spine. A huge shadow crouched there in the thinning smoke, larger than she’d ever imagined a wolf could be, tracking her with eyes like tiny suns.

  Then it emerged. Hot sparks hit the floor, and the acrid smoke recoiled as the creature lunged forward—a wolf with a coat that looked more like fire than fur, golden yellow tongues fading to a deep orange. The flame curled off its withers, shoulders, elbows, and tail; strange, round markings on its fur burned brighter than the rest of it, and its gaze seethed like fanned coals.

  Another figure stalked nearby, still covered by smoke, flanking the crowd. After a few moments, it, too, emerged, hackles prickling.

  Like the other wolf, it was vaporous, as if made of fog—but this one’s coat was silvery white into umbral blue. It had cold, steely eyes like liquid mercury. Its own markings were more angular than the other’s, blazing azure. As it joined its companion, its wide mouth spread in wh
at looked like a wicked grin, and a low, vibrating whine issued. Edie watched as its steely eyes dilated and changed color; a vibrant blue topaz, distressed like a cracked mirror. The first wolf was majestic; this one looked demented.

  Edie gasped and stepped back, letting Cal slide in front of her. She reached back and seized Mercy’s wrist, holding her close.

  “What’s going on?” her friend asked, voice shaking. “What are they?

  “I don’t know—”

  Edie squeezed her eyes shut as another explosion sounded, destroying what was left of the beautiful Gothic windows and sending a tremor through the entire mansion. When she opened her eyes again, the chandeliers thrashed menacingly above their heads, and several of those still glowing flickered out.

  Another brief, weak wave of screams rushed through the ballroom, and it only seemed to spur the wolves on; they circled, tails low, biding their time. Edie tried to quell her fear.

  A third figure emerged from the smoke on the dais, just beyond the wolves. A man.

  He was tall and broad, carrying a claymore almost effortlessly in one hand. He was still partially obscured by mist, but Edie could see his armor: A tough, black leather cuirass, sleeveless and trimmed with raven feathers; a dark steel breastplate and wicked, clawed gauntlets. A cloak with a wolf-pelt mantle was draped across his shoulders, but he discarded it on the dais as he stepped forward.

  “Our guest of honor,” boomed a voice from the second-tier landing. Every head turned to see Zaedicus, completely unharmed, not looking even a bit perturbed at the mess in his ballroom. He grinned widely and spread his arms. “Welcome, my lord.”

  The strange man raised his head, and the smoke dissipated enough for Edie to make out the rest of his features. His skin was brown, but ashen in a way that told her he didn’t see the sun often. His wild, throat-length hair was stark white. His eyes were gray and cold, and his face, with a long nose, thick brows, and a handsome mouth, was twisted in a lupine scowl. Despite how deadly he looked, he couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Edie.

  His skin—from his chin down to his neck and exposed biceps, arms, fingers—was marked with runic coils. There was something so ancient and primordial about the tattoos that the mere sight of them made Edie shudder. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t.

  The two ghostly wolves flanked the man, waiting for his command.

  “Esteemed guests,” Zaedicus announced. “I present the Wounded, Lord Sárr.”

  There was no time for panicked whispers, no time for the crowd to acclimate to the strange introduction. Sárr stomped down the steps of the dais with purpose and raised his claymore.

  His markings flashed blood red and a thousand ruddy wisps flew up his arms like a colony of ants, until the red reached his chin and blazed in his irises, turning the cold gray to a flaming scarlet. Lit up as they were, Edie could see that the markings were less like tattoos and more like … scars. Like carvings in his flesh.

  He brought the claymore down heavily, cutting down two nearby partygoers without so much as a glance. They fell to the floor in a pool of dark blood, and he continued on, his sabatons tracking it across the floor like ink. The ballroom fell silent, save for the aftershocks still vibrating the mansion. Shock paralyzed everyone.

  It wasn’t until Sárr moved on to another group and cut them down effortlessly, too, that the shock dissipated and panic began to set in again. Screams erupted all over the ballroom. People banged at the gilt doors, crying to be let out; others ran and clung to their friends and family, some tripping and becoming trampled in the layer of crushed glass at their feet.

  “No fucking way,” Cal said, whipping off his tuxedo jacket and reaching for his revolver. Satara’s hands tightened into fists, shaking, every muscle wound tight. Fisk’s spines prickled and stood on end.

  Edie held Mercy’s hand tight and edged closer to the wall, trying to keep to the shadows.

  Things were being thrown and toppled, chandeliers shuddered and burst, lights flickered. Chaos reigned, but the Wounded seemed unfazed. He raised an arm, and his wolves lashed out, bringing down several of the fleeing guests. They tore at their flesh, arcs of blood spraying the floor, the walls, coating the wolves’ fur. Still he retained his laser-focus, striding calmly to the center of the room.

  Then he spoke. With one snarl, the man—Lord Sárr—managed to drown out the madness around him: “Enough!”

  People still wept and shuddered, but now, they watched him with wide eyes. Even Edie’s party stood still, tense but stunned into silence.

  He swept his gaze, gray again, around the room. “I know she’s here,” he murmured. Then, louder: “I can feel you here, hellerune.”

  In front of Edie, Cal shifted, blocking their group a bit more. Mercy gripped her best friend’s shoulders tightly and looked at her, terrified.

  “Yes.” Zaedicus, his voice slow and thoughtful, scanned the crowd from where he stood on the second landing. “She is here, Lord Sárr. In fact....” He turned, smiling pleasantly as he motioned for something behind him.

  “No!” a familiar voice whimpered from the mezzanine. Edie gasped as Matilda was wrestled into view, arms forced behind her back. Scarlet stood there behind her, holding her tightly, kneeing her forward. Matilda cried out and closed her eyes, grimacing, but Scarlet just grinned.

  Cal gripped his gun hard, shaking in front of Edie. “Move,” he rasped, shoving her back further in the crowd.

  Zaedicus shushed Matilda almost gently and turned, taking her chin in one hand. “Behold,” he announced to the room, “Lady Matilda Ardelean. A loyal member of the Gloaming, so she’d have you think. And yet she has been conspiring with the hellerune, keeping her from us, helping her to elude us even as she stands in this very room.”

  “For the Gloaming!” Scarlet cried excitedly, tightening her hold on Matilda and making her cry out again.

  The wolves whined and arched their backs, and Sárr heaved a great sigh. “Kill her.”

  Cal pulled back the hammer of his revolver, and its click reverberated through the room. “Lay a fucking finger on her”—he aimed for Zaedicus—“and I’ll blow your eyes outta your goddamn skull.”

  Sárr barely glanced at Cal. He raised his hand, and the silver wolf let out a shivering bellow that sounded almost like a cackle. It lunged forward quicker than Cal could get a shot off, tackling him to the ground and sending the revolver skittering across the tiles. Snagging the back of his dress shirt, the wolf clenched down and shook him hard, fighting to drag him to Sárr’s feet.

  “Cal!” Matilda cried, only to be silenced by another tug from Scarlet.

  “Thank you, brother,” the Wounded said softly, reaching down to scratch the wolf’s withers. Then he turned his attention to Cal, planting one bloody sabaton in the center of his chest and crouching so their faces were only inches away from each other. Sárr inhaled, his markings and eyes flared murky blue, and he nodded. “I can smell her on you. You must be the thrall.”

  “Fuck you,” Cal managed.

  Sárr looked up at Zaedicus and muttered, “Find her or no one leaves here alive. No one.”

  The high-wight gripped the parapet of the second landing, setting his jaw. “Do you see what destruction your cowardice has wrought, Edith?” he announced. “No one else need be harmed. If you step forward and give yourself to us now, all will be forgiven.”

  Adrenaline hissed through Edie’s body, the sudden rush of blood rendering her world wavy and off-kilter. Black spots threatened her vision.

  No, no, no, no, no.

  Cal couldn’t get hurt. Mercy couldn’t get hurt. Satara, Matilda, Fisk…. She couldn’t let it happen.

  “Edie,” Mercy whimpered, holding Edie’s arm as if for dear life. “Don’t do it. He’ll hurt you!”

  “I know,” she whispered back, trying to pry herself from her friend’s grip.

  Every muscle in Satara’s body looked as tense as stone. Her terrified brown eyes said that she understood the choice Edie
had to make, and already knew what had to happen, but she still shook her head. “We can fight him. We can kill him.”

  “Not quick enough,” Edie answered numbly, gently separating herself from Mercy and stepping forward.

  It was too late for the twenty people Zaedicus had murdered for their blood. She’d just stood by when that happened. She wouldn’t stand by again.

  The room was as still as a lake, everyone watching Sárr. As Edie pushed past the crowd and stepped to the front, there was a ripple of heads and gazes turning to her. And there she stood, no one by her side, shuddering in her borrowed heels.

  Sárr turned his head and ran an awestruck gaze up and down her form, his markings and eyes burning a dull purple. Then he smiled grimly and raised a hand.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Edie flinched, expecting the wolves to attack on their master’s command.

  This was the part where she died, right? She’d been forced into a corner that no amount of cleverness could get her out of. The inevitable death she’d been dreading on the balcony earlier had come sooner than she thought.

  But instead, Sárr only held out his hand, clawed gauntlets glinting in the flickering lights. It took her a moment to realize he was reaching for her, asking her to come stand with him. She shuffled forward unsurely, kicking glass out of her way as she did. The wolves kept their distance, and their master lowered his hand slightly as she approached, fingers flexing, insisting she take it.

  She did. His skin was cold, but the brands on his palm were burning hot to the touch.

  The Wounded seemed to relax a bit, curling his large hand around her smaller one and pulling her closer until she was standing at his side, their shoulders nearly touching.

  He released her hand after a moment and grinned. The way he stood over the crowd, his stance open and his chest thrust forward, he looked like he’d just won a battle.

  Clearly, there was something she was missing.

  Cal was still lying at his feet, unmoving, his white collar damp and red from the wolf’s jaws. Edie glanced sidelong at Sárr, wanting to kneel down and help her friend up, but who knew what Sárr would do in retaliation? Kill her right away, chop off Cal’s head? She stood still even though she was screaming inside.