Gant didn’t buy it. Still, he was smug enough to believe he could acquiesce now and fix her disloyalty later. He gestured his assent and Nadine switched sides with a pep in her step. Ignoring the lurking ulfar, she walked up and stood beside Creed.
“Looks painful,” Gant said, eyeing my wound.
“It’ll heal.”
“So it will,” he chuckled. “It gives me no pleasure to hurt you.”
A laugh escaped before I could squelch the urge. Hot jolts radiated from the bullet hole. “You’re funny,” I panted. “You know, it’s not too late to switch careers. Maybe get a cushy standup job in Vegas?”
He approached me. A ring of his guards came with him. “You’ve seen my power, Dahlia. Those who challenge me are lucky to lose only their will. Those who anger me,” he fumed with clenched teeth, “lose much, much more.”
“What about those who don’t do a goddamn thing? Like the creatures you’ve been slaughtering and divvying up to your clients? They wanted nothing more than a new home. A safe place. A better life. You used to want that…before.”
Involuntarily, he stiffened.
Smiling inwardly, I went on. “You’d sit in the library, reading all those books, wishing they would take you away. It was your favorite room in the house. Yours and your mothers.” I locked the pain away and stood; fists clenched to hide my smoldering scaled palms, growing increasingly hotter and brighter. “I’m glad she’s not alive to see the monster you’ve become.”
Pain, then rage, moved into his gaze. Whatever villainous nonsense he was about to spout, I didn’t need to hear it. I slid Nadine a look, and she brushed her lips to Creed’s ear. Two breaths later, he toppled over. Another two, and Nadine went flat, “fainting” on top of him.
Gant spun around. “What happened? What’s wrong with them?”
“Maybe they’re tired of your bullshit. I know I am.” I raised my arms and shoved the fire out, turning in a circle—releasing nearly everything I had in one long, blinding inferno—blasting his guards back. Nyakree and the other creatures scattered. The ulfar who avoided my initial strike, scrambled to protect their alpha, gathering around and huddling over him like a shield wall. I scorched their backs with another stream, and the stink of burnt hair and flesh mingled with the other foul odors in the room.
My fire sputtered out. I called to Nadine. “You two all right?”
She sat up, frantically checking her hair. “Girl, if you singed my curls…”
Taking that for a yes, I pushed the fading heat from my scales against my wound. It wasn’t enough to seal it completely, but it slowed the bleeding. And I needed my reserves for one last burst.
Advancing on the ring of smoldering wolves, I kicked them over, one at a time. Their bent forms, crispy on the outside, toppled to expose the man curled in their middle. “Arno,” I said, as he unfolded to glare at me, “you sorry excuse for a skinwalker. Your puppies aren’t looking so good. If you’re waiting for them to come to your rescue,” biting my lip on a groan, I hauled him up, “I think you’re out of luck.”
“Am I?” he barked. “I may not be capable of walking in the skin of another, but it takes surprisingly little of it to give me control.” Arno closed his eyes, and something rattled inside the tarp-covered wooden crates. “Did you think the ulfar were the only creatures here I command?”
“Damn. I was hoping for some time to gloat.”
Arno offered a blasé grunt. “About?”
“This.” I slid the lipstick case from the sheathe on my leg. “Oliver never treated you like a son, did he? You were his successor, his possession. His trophy. So you kept him as yours.”
The crates rattled harder, and Nadine cut in. “Dahl, honey. Speed it up.”
Ripping the elevator key off Gant’s neck, I tossed it to her. “Get these creatures out of here. Find a phone and call Oren. We need a cleanup crew in here now.”
An inhuman shriek escaped the groaning, wooden box to my right.
I glanced at Creed, out cold, and added, “Make it fast. I may need you.”
Nadine took off. I opened the case and popped out the syringe. There were likely words to say to reverse the ritual; words I didn’t know. Though, I wasn’t positive the blood would work physically, I was counting on it to undo Gant mentally. And it is, I thought, watching his focus zero in on the red liquid. It split his attention, and the worrisome sounds of his creatures lessened.
With a faint wobble, he demanded, “What is that?”
I smiled. “Holding onto Oliver’s corpse was a great big ‘fuck you’ for all those years he manipulated you, controlling your life, deciding your future. He couldn’t even let you die how you wanted. He had to bring you back as…” I ran my eyes over Gant’s grotesque form, “this. I would’ve killed him, too. But I wouldn’t have kept my Achilles heel in the freezer.”
Worry twisted his saggy, sewn-on face as Gant eyed the blood.
“What’s the matter, Arno? Not into leftovers?”
“I know what you speak of. It won’t work.”
“You sure about that?” I said, as the crates went silent. The stink of fear overtook the rot stench clinging to his body. “Let’s find out.”
I brought the needle toward his neck. He fought back, thrashing in my one-handed grip, kicking and punching in places that already hurt. A brutal blow to the throat bought me time to inject him. Oliver’s blood flowed in, and within seconds, his son released a strained, shuddering scream. The rage-filled sound altered rapidly, breaking into a violent stutter as Arno’s body convulsed. The worn skin around the injection site began to curl and dry. It disintegrated, and he lashed out harder.
Going for the hole in my stomach, Gant’s fingers jabbed in. My nerves screamed nearly as loud as I did. “You…son of a…bitch,” I panted, pushing out my claws. I sliced at him, cutting through the stitching. Strips of flesh slid off with the blood, exposing more and more of his own twisted, gnarled body—and the ghosts that haunted it.
I shoved them off. I couldn’t get bogged down in his pain. The symbols had to be burned away now, before he mustered the strength to command the creatures in the crates to rally against me.
But there was so much despair in his soul.
Misery, bitterness, loneliness, and wrath struck like a storm—as strong as the day he stood in the library, doused with gasoline and ready to die. Arno’s desire to flee, to escape the life he despised, was so consuming and clear. He never wanted this. He ruled the Market because he had no other options. With each body he mutilated, each mind he controlled, he slipped deeper and deeper into the role laid out for him since the moment he was born. Falling into line, accepting what he was and what he’d become; it was all he had left.
Arno Gant was a butcher. I didn’t want to understand him. But I did. I knew the expectancy of a domineering paternal figure. I knew the lack of choice. I knew how each terrible decision grew to be easier than the last. With enough lies and self-delusion, any action can be justified. The Guild taught me that.
It also taught me how to be strong.
Throwing his ghosts off me, I set my fire free. I released everything I had left on Arno Gant and staggered away. My vision blurred. Pain burrowed and spread. Leaning against one of the crates, it took me a few seconds to realize Creed was waking up. He caught sight of the flaming pillar and stood, slowly, trying to comprehend why the man being burned alive wasn’t thrashing or screaming, but standing—arms lifted to the heavens, as if in death, he’d finally found peace.
Creed ripped a tarp off one of the crates and rushed to help. As he smothered the flames, as Oliver once had, I wanted to tell him to stop. Creed was risking himself to save someone who didn’t want to be saved. But I was too cold to move. My legs were weak.
The floor swayed…
Red dripped, painting circles on the floor around my feet.
I watched the dots add up. Gant’s gouging had done some damage.
Creed suffocated the last of the fire. He backed away from G
ant’s smoking body and turned to me. His purposeful steps slowed, then stopped altogether. Memory clicked into place and revulsion darkened his stare. “I…I shot you.”
I struggled for a steady voice. “I noticed.”
“You’re bleeding—”
“But not dying,” I cut in, trying not to slur and shiver. “Nadine will be back soon with the key. I’ll be okay.”
Gant released a low, anguished moan, recapturing Creed’s attention. “I don’t know how, but he’s still alive.” Looking back at me, he said, “Did you see what did this?”
A rumbling voice replied, “A monster.” As Jace strolled into the chaos in his lime green, Juicy Bits t-shirt, he returned Creed’s glare with a smile. “That’s right, Detective. We’re not all bad all the time,” he said, tossing me a wink.
Wanting nothing more than to pass out, I shot him a short-tempered, “What the hell?”
“I did some thinkin’ after you left, Dahl. Decided to come collect what’s mine. Thought I might show Mr. Market what all that skinnin’ he does feels like, but…” Jace grinned at Gant’s charred, wrapped body, “looks like I missed all the fun.”
“I thought you ran.” Hopeful, I added, “You and Ronan?”
“Not this time. Haven’t seen him since you two came a callin’.” Pausing, Jace surveyed the state of his old pack. Most were suffering from burns he knew were from me. Yet, there was no blame in his tone as he said, “I owe you.”
“Just get them out of here. Your kind aren’t dogs or sheep. Their warriors. Remind them of that. Take them someplace safe. Look after them.”
“I aim to.” Walking between us, Jace glanced at Creed. “Don’t let her push you around. She’s good for that.” Jace shot me a parting nod and approached the ulfar. Those conscious, watched him with wary curiosity. The clarity in their eyes was obvious. It hadn’t been there in our previous encounters. Likely, it hadn’t been there in a long time.
Creed started toward me again. “We need to get you two to a hospital.”
“There was a wheelchair by the elevator. Maybe there’s a stretcher, too. If we can get Gant up to the theater room, the EMTs can—”
“We can’t move him.”
“We have to. No one can see this, Alex. Not until it’s been cleaned. There’s too much here that isn’t human.”
“You’re asking me to cover up an entire crime scene.”
“I’m asking you to…” Words left me. Walls shifted.
Shadows dimmed the light.
The floor rushed toward me. Creed was faster.
“Good catch, Detective,” I muttered, as I fell into his arms.
“Where the hell is your friend with that key?” He lowered me to the floor. Taking off his ruined jacket, he bunched it up and tried to staunch the blood. “I can’t believe I did this to you.”
“Gant did this. And he won’t do it to anyone ever again. It’s over.” But it’s not. Ronan was still out there. He’s always out there, I thought, popping up like a never-ending game of whack-a-mole.
“Fuck it.” Creed scooped me off the floor. “We’ll meet her at the elevator.”
I groaned as he jostled me. Sear the wound, I thought. If I die now and wake later… But my thoughts were jumbled, and I’d lost too much blood. Death was the only outcome now.
“You were something else tonight,” he said, trying to keep me awake as he pushed through the double doors. “Which is why I won’t ask you what Gant knows that you’re so damn afraid of me finding out—tonight. I’ll save the interrogation until after you’re patched up.”
I took the reprieve with a weak, “How sweet.”
“It’s the least I can do. I’m already topping the list of shittiest dates.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Alex. I’ve had worse. But you do owe me a tango.”
Hearing the elevator chime down the hall, I lifted my head to see Nadine step out. She ushered us in as we approached. Fussing over me, she put a hand on my head. “I called Oren. He’ll get in touch with your doctor and have him meet us at the hospital.”
I nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. The only way to handle my imminent, miraculous recovery, was to have a lyrriken in place at the ER. Releasing a grateful, “Thank you,” I snuggled into Creed’s chest as the elevator started up.
Somehow, Gant and I were both still alive when the ambulances arrived. I’d been in and out of consciousness, but my lyrriken blood, and sheer willpower not to die in front of Creed, had kept me hanging on by a thread. There had to be something arcane still at play inside Arno, too, for his ruined, blistered body to stay working. It wouldn’t matter for long, though.
Creed got his killer. He got to tick off a box in the UCU’s win column. But word would reach the Guild, and Arno Gant would be dealt with long before he spilled a single dragon secret.
They took him away in a waiting ambulance, and my stretcher was loaded into another. Nadine was long gone. Creed was busy, but I still had to wave him away. As he jogged off, fading into the chaos of flashing lights and uniforms, a female EMT climbed in back with me. The doors closed, and I let go with a heavy sigh.
I didn’t have to hold on anymore.
My wound was dressed. I’d been giving something for the pain and covered in a warm blanket. I didn’t need to force my eyes open to ease anyone’s concern. I could sleep and heal.
The tech riding in back hooked up an IV. “This will make the trip easier.”
Drowsy, an oxygen mask muting my words, I asked, “What is it?”
“Nothing for you to worry about. It will take effect soon.” She leaned over to check my dressing, and I caught her lyrriken scent, as I had when she got in. I was surprised Oren had arranged for an operative to step in so quickly.
“Thank you for coming,” I said. “I don’t know what Oren told you, but—” I gasped, as a searing heat shot through my veins. Flinging open my eyes, I tried to sit up, but my body wouldn’t respond.
“Don’t fight it,” she said, removing her uniform cap. Peeling off the dark wig beneath, lavender hair tumbled down, brushing the triumphant smile on the queen’s face. “Sleep now, little one. We’ll be home soon.”
Thirty-One
All young apprentices feared being called to the citadel. Standing at the bottom of the globe-shaped chamber far beneath the open ceiling, it seemed as if the stars themselves were looking on in judgement. But it was something much closer and infinitely more fearsome bearing witness to my sentencing. Then, as they do now, I thought, feeling the combined, weighted gaze of the shadowy shapes perched above me. Their silent stares spoke of my insignificance, as the elders sat, wings folded, on the moss-laden shelves protruding from the walls of the mountain chamber. Their rapid, hot breath wafted out.
I was grateful for the warmth.
My gunshot wound was still an issue. My body was weak and woozy from whatever Naalish gave me in the ambulance. My stained, tattered costume offered no protection against the cold pinch of Drimeran metal shackles on my wrists and ankles.
I wasn’t sure how long they’d been there, or how long I’d been here, kneeling before Naalish; kicked and prodded each time I nearly passed out. Her dragon form was some distance away, lounging on an impressive crystalline quartz platform, ground smooth and glossy by thousands of hours of lyrriken labor. Her scales gleamed, as bright as the delight of condemnation in her eyes. Yet, not one word of the queen’s lengthy speech had been spoken in my head. This night, her words were heard solely in the minds of those who counted: the elders.
The weight of their continued silence pressing in, I was grateful when Naalish dismissed me with a single nod. The guards yanked me up, and I was taken from her presence with an unceremonious rattle of chains. I was too drugged to make the restraints necessary. But that wasn’t why I was wearing them. Naalish shackled me merely for the sound and the memory it would invoke of the last time I was dragged away from the citadel.
The night I betrayed her.
The extended creak
of a hinge broke into my thoughts. Herded into a passage and down a set of spiral stairs, the rough stone bit into my bare feet. The rocky walls were unremarkable, giving no clue as to our destination. Despite my years in service to the Guild, there were places within the citadel I’d never ventured. Some chambers were seen only by the convicted or lyrriken with ranks as high as Oren’s.
Unfortunately, a promotion wasn’t in my future.
I didn’t think execution was, either. If death was her plan, the show wouldn’t have gone on so long. Naalish would have issued a swift, decisive decree and received no quarrel from the tribal leaders. Not that I believed they were arguing in my defense. Though, Aidric might have risked it, citing my potential help with the blight as reason to leave me unharmed. Not surprisingly, the king was conspicuously absent.
Our trek ended with the opening of a metal door. Darkness lay beyond. The air reeked of waste and rot. My sight was too fuzzy to penetrate the black, but I was aware enough to know I was some place I didn’t want to be.
Fighting my blue-plated escorts as they dragged me in, I strained to connect with my fire, and got nothing. I wrestled to land a punch, but my limbs were sluggish. My swings went right past them. One threw me down into a chair. A few blows to the head kept me still as they unfastened the shackles. Metal cuffs folded over my wrists, ankles, chest, and throat. Something sharp pierced the side of my neck and slid inside. Blood trickled out, wetting my shoulder and chest. It gathered underneath the pendant.
Why am I still wearing it? I wondered. Naalish clearly wanted the piece. Why not take it now, when I was in no condition to stop her?
The guards left. I jumped at the solid slam of a bolt being drawn across the outside of the door. Machinery whirred to life in the heavy dark, and a steady stream of cold air pumped into the room to inhibit my fire. Beneath the thrum of the fan came a husky, eager panting.
Nageun.
It didn’t take much struggling to know, I wasn’t going anywhere. I couldn’t fight them. I couldn’t escape. Yet. To have even a hope of getting free, I had to keep my wits about me.
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