“No!” shouted the woman behind her.
Violet yelped as something ropelike cinched around her waist and yanked her back. Gravel bit into her flesh as she was dragged away from the van. She tore at the tight restraint, but whatever it was, it seemed impossible for her fingers to pry it loose.
Blondie was still on her feet but bent over, bracing herself on her knees. Her black jacket had been torn to shreds, and magenta gore oozed everywhere, mingling with the torn flaps of fabric. The woman swayed a little as she looked down at the carnage of her own chest.
Violet guessed she’d gotten close to a dozen stabs in before she was thrown off. Any human would be struggling to remain standing. But as for a shifter with magenta blood . . . Violet had no idea if any of the stab wounds were fatal.
Blondie held the magenta handle of a whip in one hand. She tugged hard, and the whip squeezed tighter around Violet’s waist.
“Stop playing around,” the man called from the van. “Just kill her and let’s go.”
The woman’s fierce gaze bore down on Violet.
Violet whimpered, her fingers clawing at the whip now cutting into her flesh. She glanced up at Blondie, then froze. Terror leached into her veins, polluting every last shred of hope.
The woman’s face rippled as her features began to change. Her skin turned molten black—the color of cooled lava. Hairline fractures appeared all over her tarlike skin, growing wider, revealing slivers of molten magenta light. It reminded Violet of volcanoes and apocalypse movies where the earth’s crust would split to spew fiery magma.
Streams of magenta blood still oozed from the stab wounds in the woman’s chest, the blood sizzling where it dripped into the magenta fissures. When the woman opened her eyes, small magenta flames ignited in each of her eye sockets.
Get up! Violet’s mind screamed. Run! With panicked desperation, Violet began hacking at the whip with the dagger.
The woman lunged.
In full shifter form, Blondie pinned Violet to the ground like a predator would its prey.
Violet’s scream ripped through the air, raw and piercing. “Get off me!” She kicked, bucked, and flailed her arms.
The shifter caught the arm that held the dagger. She opened her mouth wide, then bit down on Violet’s forearm.
Violet’s whole world narrowed until only the acute pain of the shifter’s teeth in her arm remained. It was as if a raging inferno were seeping into her from the shifter’s bite, setting her veins on fire, replacing her blood with lava. The agonizing heat spread throughout her entire body.
Violet screamed and writhed, all thoughts and fears for Solace gone. Only the infernal torment existed now. She was no longer Violet. She was pain incarnate.
The shifter hovered over her, once again wearing that twisted smirk. She raised one hand, and magenta fire ignited in her palm. The flames licked down her wrist and toward her elbow, reflecting in the shifter’s bloodlust-filled eyes. Her lips moved, but Violet’s screams drowned out whatever the woman was trying to say.
Violet wished she would just shut up and deliver the death blow—this agonizing existence was too much to bear. Darkness clouded the edges of her vision. If the shifter didn’t kill her soon, Violet was sure the pain in her body would extinguish her life.
The shifter’s fiery palm drew closer to Violet’s face.
Suddenly, the woman’s head snapped unnaturally to the side. The magenta fire in her eyes went out, and she fell out of Violet’s view.
Instead, Sagan’s face filled Violet’s fading vision. His skin was mottled with cuts and bruises, and crimson blood dripped from his head and mixed with the magenta blood on his clothes. His icy eyes were laced with worry.
Blackness consumed the remainder of Violet’s sight.
She embraced the emptiness.
6
Aeriform Communications
A bright teal light engulfed Nathan’s world. His inner eyelids shuttered open and closed, adjusting to the intense exposure of the condensed Venusian beam. A tingle in his skull intensified into painful vibrations as smaller shards of Diamantium sliced through his scaled head, adorning his brow bones, cheekbones, and chin. His canines and premolars lengthened and sharpened. After a moment, his forked tongue slashed out between a triple set of protruding fangs.
Nathan’s jaw locked open in a long, guttural roar. His body writhed and flailed, the chains his only tether to the world—
“Nathan, wake up,” hissed a voice from the dark. “Psst, Nathan? You awake?”
Groaning, Nathan rubbed at his eyes and face. “Yeah, Thane. I am now.”
Thane released a breath. “You were having a nightmare again.”
“Sorry. Did I wake you?” Nathan allowed a few moments for his groggy mind to clear. He blinked, but the lights in the cell block had been turned off hours ago. The darkness was the same whether his eyes were open or closed, which made his dreams—his memories—as bright as day against the black.
“Everything okay?” Thane pressed.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” A flash of intense blue light danced across his mind’s eye, and the memory of his own screaming echoed in his ears. “It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”
Nathan hadn’t told Thane about the hunters who’d captured him last year and tried to harvest his crystal bones. Verbalizing that memory was something Nathan still couldn’t bring himself to do, especially after his encounter with Aphrodite, the hunters’ light cannon that blasted condensed Venusian beams on restrained Veniri captives to ensure they didn’t return to human form upon death. A Veniri’s skeleton was made of Diamantium crystal, whether alive or dead, in human or shifted form—but it was only in shifted form that the large Diamantium shards protruded from the flesh in glittering spires. The hunters prized the Veniri crystal bones, fashioning them into weapons and other tools to aid their grotesque trade.
Still reeling from the nightmare, Nathan absentmindedly scratched his shoulder, not realizing what he was doing until his fingertips glided over the crystallized patch. The familiar tingle of fear washed over his skin, blanketing him in a cold dread.
As he stared into the black, the night stared back. In moments like these, his thoughts quickly began to spiral into hopelessness. He’d seen firsthand how captivity could break a man. He wouldn’t, couldn’t allow himself to plummet into his abyss of despair now. Thane was relying on him to keep it together. So was Tio, regardless of his arrogant exterior.
But despite his best efforts, tendrils of Nathan’s deepest fears crept closer with each passing day, threatening to take hold of him, strangle him. Soon—very soon—he wouldn’t have the strength to pull himself away.
Nathan rolled over, and something crinkled in his pocket. He fished out the piece of paper Nika had given him. It was too dark to read the words, but he could see them clearly in his mind.
Midnight. Be ready. Make sure you and the other slith DON’T MOVE!
A growing hope fluttered in his chest. The logical part of him wanted to shred it to bits; it was likely a trap. And yet maybe it wasn’t . . .
He snorted. Of course it was a trap. After all, it was a damn hunter who’d given him the note.
But even if it was a trap, what did he have to lose? At the rate things were going in this gladiator hellhole, he was a goner anyway. He might as well find out for sure. Maybe he’d be able to find an escape for Thane and Tio. And if he died in the process . . . hopefully the others could find another way out by themselves.
There was no way of telling what time it was. It wasn’t as though shifter gladiators had the privilege of a clock or anything. Hunters could show up at any time, but only for two reasons—to deliver the disgusting slop they considered suitable to feed shifters, or to retrieve the next combatants for the arena.
At night, in the dark blacker than pitch, Nathan had no choice but to wait, with only his building anxiety for company.
Suddenly, a beep—followed by a whir and clank—shattered the silence: the telltale sounds of the
cell doors being unlocked. But it wasn’t just one door; it was all of them, and there were at least a hundred cells lining both sides of this particular corridor. A few moments later, a chorus of eerie screeches echoed through the inky dark. Nathan didn’t need to see to know that all one hundred cell doors had just automatically swung open.
His blood thrummed in his ears. It was almost as deafening as the silence. But things weren’t silent for long.
“Oi!” called a Lycan from several cells down. “Wake up! The doors are unlocked!”
A few sleepy answering mumbles rolled up and down the cells. The mumbles turned into confused and cynical comments, and then the collective voices peaked into a tumult of shouts.
“Nathan?” Thane’s voice was barely audible over the hysteria. “Tio? You guys awake?”
Before either answered, the hallway lights flicked on. Nathan’s eyes slammed shut against the painful, glaring light as the rest of the inmates objected with collective groans and yells.
“What’s going on?” Thane shouted over the commotion.
“Not sure yet.” Nathan shielded his face with his forearm while his eyes adjusted. Squinting, he glanced around. Most of the inmates were now out of bed, peering out of their cell doors with quizzical expressions and making speculations with their neighbors. After a few seconds, someone tentatively stepped out of his cell. When nothing happened, another Lycan inmate stepped out. Then another.
Finally, someone yelled, “The outer door is open!”
All heads swiveled to the main door of the cell block. Sure enough, their gateway to freedom was wide open.
Without hesitation, a stampede of frenzied werewolves rushed the main doorway. The desperate shifters bottlenecked in the cell block’s corridor, pushing and shoving with cries of “Move it!” and “Get out of the way!”
“Thane!” Nathan called out urgently. “Stay put! Tell Tio not to move!”
He couldn’t blame anyone for not questioning the how and why of what was going on. Any captive dog will charge straight for the exit if it’s cooped up for too long.
A Lycan stumbled and fell at the doorway of Nathan’s cell, and the others trampled over him without a backward glance. The rush of inmates seemed endless. Werewolf after desperate werewolf rushed past, elbows and knuckles clipping against cell bars and sending discordant clangs throughout the prison block. Dozens of bare feet stamped and shuffled over the stony floor.
Eventually the cacophony of voices and slamming bodies died down as the crowd thinned out. Before long, even the straggling Lycans, those unfortunates who’d gotten trampled, limped out after the others.
Finally, only Nathan, Thane, and Tio remained. The frenzied commotion continued at a muted level in the outer hallways.
Is it just our cell block that unlocked? Are any of the other hundreds upon hundreds of Lycans running through the halls?
By now, the hunters were more than aware that at least a hundred of their captives were on the loose. Bellows, roars, and howls outside the cell block had reached a violent crescendo, suggesting that the chaos had turned into a bloodbath.
“Come on,” said Tio. “Let’s get out of here before the doors shut.”
“Wait.” Nathan held up a hand.
Tio stopped in his tracks just outside his cell. Thane hadn’t moved; his brows were knit together in a skeptical frown.
“We need to stay here,” Nathan said.
“What?” exclaimed Tio.
“Why?” demanded Thane.
“Because . . .” Because why? Because a little piece of paper told me to? Nathan scanned everywhere—the walls, the ceiling, the floor—for something, anything to validate Nika’s note.
“Come on. Let’s go.” Tio bounced on the balls of his feet. “What are we waiting for?”
“Not yet.” Nathan flexed his hands, then closed them into fists. His eyes swiveled erratically, searching, searching . . .
“Nathan?” Thane’s sharp tone betrayed his own anxiety. “What aren’t you telling us?”
After a slight hesitation, Nathan handed him the note.
“Who gave this to you?”
“That female hunter. Nika.”
“It’s a trap,” said Thane, studying the small piece of paper. “It’s gotta be a trap.”
“What is it?” Tio glanced at the note over Thane’s shoulder. “You’re joking, right?” Tio’s questioning eyes held Nathan’s. “You mean to say you’ve been making friends with the hunters? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Nathan shook his head. “I don’t know her. I’d never seen her before today.”
Tio’s incredulous eyes widened. “You’d never seen her before, yet you think she’s trustworthy?”
Thane cursed and began to pace in a circle. “This is insane.”
Nathan glanced at the open door to the cell block, only about twenty cells away. Lycans and hunters blurred past the opening. Harrowing death cries echoed through the abandoned space around him, slicing through Nathan’s indecision. “You’re right. There’s no point waiting here. Let’s go.”
Nathan hadn’t even reached his cell door when dust sprinkled down onto his head. Shielding his eyes, he looked up at the stone ceiling. An irregular panel of rock shifted above, then was pulled away, leaving a dark void. Half a heartbeat later, a face appeared.
“Hey, it’s her,” said Tio.
“Hurry up. We don’t have much time.” Nika threw down a rope, and the end coiled at Nathan’s feet. When he didn’t move, Nika frowned. “What’s the deal? Do you guys want out or not? It makes no difference to me, slith.”
Nathan put his hands on his hips. “Who are you? Why are you helping us?”
“Wouldn’t you prefer to discuss this after we get out of here?” She wiggled the rope for emphasis.
“How do we know we can trust you?” Thane called up.
“Sagan sent me.”
Nathan was taken aback. Sagan? “Do you mean Sagan Branstone?”
“Seriously?” Nika looked at him as if he’d just grown a second head. “How many Sagans do you know?”
Nathan and Thane exchanged a glance. Nathan had often wondered what had happened to that young hunter who’d helped him escape from having his bones harvested. Could Sagan still be trusted?
“Soooo, are we doing this?” Tio looked between Thane and Nathan. “Can we trust her?”
A vexed groaned came from above. “Figure out your trust issues quickly. Our window to escape is closing.”
Thane gave a sharp, decisive nod.
“Done,” confirmed Nathan. “Tio, you’re up first.”
“Whoa, whoa,” Nika protested. “Hold up. I’m only here for you two sliths. Sagan never said anything about a clanger.”
Nathan crossed his arms. “Either we all go, or none of us do.”
Nika swore. “Fine. Get your asses up here.”
After all three shifters had climbed the rope, Nika led them through several stone passages. She held a lantern over her head to illuminate their way. Judging by the light’s magenta tinge, the lantern was powered by a Magneii shifter’s energy core.
Nathan shook his head. Typical hunters. Why use a standard flashlight when you can incorporate shifter body parts into everyday items?
“What’s the deal with these tunnels?” Tio crinkled his nose. “It smells like ass in here.”
Nathan rolled his eyes. Trust Tio to remind them all of his adolescence in the midst of a prison break.
Nika scoffed. “That’s probably because these tunnels haven’t been used in years and years. Tempecrest was a prison in the Dark Ages and was abandoned for about a hundred and fifty years before the hunters took over. These passageways were used by the original prison wardens.”
At the end of one of the passages, Nika passed her lantern to Nathan, then pressed her hands against the rough stone wall. A large panel inched outward, and bright light streamed in, bringing with it only silence from whatever lay beyond.
Nika took a second to peek t
hrough the crack. “The coast is clear.” She pushed the rugged door wide enough for them all to step out into a modern white hallway lined with a number of nondescript doors. “Stay close. Don’t let anyone see you.”
She darted to the left, and the others followed, with Nathan at the rear. After several more stark hallways—these hunters sure liked their labyrinthine corridors—they rounded another bend and came to a T-intersection, where Nika stopped short. She held a finger to her lips. Voices drifted from around the corner to the left.
“I say we gut him,” said a male voice.
“Tempting” came another male voice. “But I’m not sure the consequences are worth it.”
“What consequences? If we do it quick and fast, no one will know it was us.”
“No, please,” a new voice said. “There’s no need to be rash.” That familiar, slimy whine set Nathan’s teeth on edge. He leaned in over the top of Nika, Thane, and Tio to get his own look at the conversation.
Three hunters were crowded around someone they had backed against the wall. The hunter in the center was pressing a Diamantium dagger against the victim’s cheek—Kronan’s cheek.
It took every ounce of Nathan’s self-control to stay silent and hidden. To not jump out and drive the hunter’s deadly blade into Kronan’s flesh.
Just as Kronan’s begging began to pitch up into hysterical screams, the crackle of a radio cut through the commotion. Behind the voice on the other end, it wasn’t difficult to hear the distinct sound of rioting.
“Copy that,” replied one of the hunters. “We’re on our way.”
“Hear that, slith? Looks like you get a free pass today,” said the hunter with the dagger.
The one who’d answered the radio began moving off. “Come on, we better take the stairs.”
The other two hunters threw several last threats at Kronan before following their companion down the corridor, their chatter and footsteps gradually fading away.
Flames of Mars (Celestial Shifters Book 2) Page 7