Wicked

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  hand across his bloodied neck then slammed his palm on the shaking door.

  Bright blue light flared behind the door, shining out through the cracks. The ancient that shot me fell to his knees in front of the door, arms spread wide. A heartbeat passed, and then there was a clap of thunder, a sonic boom blasting from behind the door, throwing me off my feet. I hit the floor and air punched out of my lungs. Dazed, I sat up slowly and saw that everyone had been knocked down, and the ancient was gone, as if he'd never been there, but his bloody handprint burned on the door, an unholy blue.

  My wild gaze found Ren on the other side of the room. He too was sitting up. Our eyes locked, and whatever relief we saw in each other's gazes faded away. A soft breeze swept over my skin, tossing the loose curls across my face. I turned slowly to the door, inhaling the sudden honeysuckle scent.

  The blue light was gone. The door no longer rattled, but every hair on my body rose as an icy chill snaked down my spine. Carefully, I rose to my knees and stood up. I saw Val do the same thing, but she . . . she was backing away from the door and she was . . . smiling. I didn't understand, couldn't fathom it, even as she looked over her shoulder, her gaze finding me. The smile only faltered a little.

  Oh no. No, no, no.

  I couldn't be seeing this. It had to mean something else because there was no way—absolutely no way. They had to have gotten to her somehow, but I saw that she wore her bracelet, the one that held the clover in it. I'd never seen her without it.

  A lock turned and clicked, the sound echoing through the room like a gunshot. Pulse pounding rapidly, I swallowed hard as another lock unclicked. The doorknob rattled once, twice, then turned slowly.

  My heart stopped as I tightened my grip on the stake.

  An unnatural hush settled over the room as Order members and fae alike rose to their feet, and then the door swung open.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Darkness like I'd never seen before hovered inside the empty doorway. A shadow so deep and thick, it pulsed as it moved out from the entry, the thick edge of it latching on to the wall above the door. It moved, fluid like oil as it climbed the wall and seeped forward. The tin material popped under the weight as it slid over the ceiling. Tendrils of black smoke extended out, whipping into the air. The scent of honeysuckle grew.

  "Oh, that's so not good," I murmured, taking a step back.

  Wisps of black smoke funneled down from the ceiling, several columns forming at once. I lost count at ten. The shadows spun dizzyingly, revealing a bright blue light from the center. The light pulsed once and the shadows dissipated, as if a great wind had scattered the smoke.

  In the place of the shadows stood tall men wearing some kind of dark pants, maybe leather. Their feet and chests were bare. On their right arms was a band with some kind of writing I didn't recognize. All of them had short hair, nearly black, buzzed close to the skull. Their eyes were like frozen lakes as they surveyed their surroundings.

  The fae in the room suddenly dropped to their knees, bowing their heads, oblivious to the Order members still standing.

  And that was a really bad sign.

  I drew in a sharp breath then it caught as another shadow moved from the doorway. A man walked through, not a cloud of evil mist, but a man well over six and a half feet. He wore the same kind of black breeches, but a white linen shirt clung to his broad shoulders. As if he'd grown bored of buttoning it, half of his bronze chest was exposed. His raven colored hair was longer, brushing his shoulders, and his features were astoundingly angular. All the raw beauty the fae seemed to have pieced his face together. He was so beautiful he was almost hard to look at, and it was unnatural, too unreal.

  And there wasn't an ounce of compassion or humanity in his features.

  I didn't need anyone to tell me who or what he was. The way he held his head high, the slight curl of distaste to his full lips, how he cast his gaze around the room with a look of arrogant dismissal.

  The prince.

  The prince had arrived.

  And the men before him were the knights. They were free, and before the full horror of that could be recognized, one of the knights stepped toward the closest Order member and thrust his hand out, shoving it clean through the man's chest.

  Chaos ensued.

  Order members charged the knights as the fae remained in their obedient, kneeling positions. Instinct guided me. I reached for my left arm, unhooking the thorn stake strapped there. Grunts of pain and the wheezing sound of last breaths being taken surrounded me as I stepped forward, preparing to engage the nearest knight.

  Then I saw Val.

  She was walking at a rapid pace behind the prince, who with a simple raise of his hand, sent anyone standing in front of him flying to the sides. The show of power was shocking. Within seconds, he was at the entry to the hallway and then he was gone from my sight, Val right behind him.

  I hesitated, my frantic gaze finding Ren ducking under the outstretched arm of one of the knights and popping up behind him. He slammed his booted foot into the knight's back, bringing the powerful creature to its knees. A second passed and then Ren saw me, and I knew what I had to do.

  I spun around and raced for the hallway, darting around those who had fallen—some injured, some never getting back up again. I thought I heard someone shout my name, but I threw open the door and crossed the short hallway, peering over the railing. Down below, I saw the bright red of Val's shirt slipping through the front door.

  "Val!" Taking the steps two at a time, I rushed through the foyer and caught the front door before it swung shut. I burst outside, startling a group of teenagers standing on the curb.

  Looking left and right, I caught sight of Val heading toward the French Quarter. My brain had clicked off. Duty demanded that I go after the prince. I'd been the closest to the door, and I knew others would soon be in pursuit—if they could get out of that house, but it was more than just duty.

  I had to get to Val. Maybe it was shock, or maybe it was denial that she had purposely enabled the ancient to open the door—that she had willingly left with the prince. Deep down, I knew that she was a traitor, that she had already betrayed us, but some little part of me thought I could fix this, if I could just get to her. Because she had to have been compelled. Maybe she'd been caught without protection like Merle—like I had been.

  Picking up speed as they turned onto St. Phillip Street, I feared I knew where Val was leading the prince. All I could hope was that I was wrong. Legs aching, I pushed, dodging streetwalkers and panhandlers. My lungs seized when I passed the Irish pub and saw Val's red shirt a second before it disappeared.

  No. No.

  I pushed harder than I ever had before, nearly out of breath when I reached the side entrance of Mama Lousy. Heart sinking, I yanked open the door and peered up the staircase.

  The normally closed, secured door was open.

  Dread settled like a cannonball in the pit of my stomach as I climbed the stairs. As I neared the top, the metallic scent was so strong that I could taste it in the back of my throat. Clearing the stairs, I stepped into the room and swallowed a hoarse cry.

  Harris lay on his back, his eyes glassy and unfocused. The front of his shirt was torn and covered in red. A puddle of blood seeped out from under him, spreading across the beige carpet.

  Anger and horror warred inside me as I stalked forward, toward the back of the room and the stairwell that led to the third floor, clenching the stake until my knuckles hurt. "Valerie!" I shouted.

  A door to my right slammed shut, and I whirled. Val stood there, holding something the size and shape of a bowling ball in her arms. It was covered with a black cloth. I had no idea what she was carrying, and in that moment, I didn't even care.

  "Why?" I asked, my voice cracking halfway through the one single word.

  Tight curls bounced as she shook her head and edged toward the door. "I wish it hadn't been you that came after me."

  Before I could respond, cold air danced along the na
pe of my neck. I spun around, my breath catching as I saw the prince standing before me. Two words pretty much summed up how I felt about that.

  Oh shit.

  I heard the door close behind me, and even though I knew Val had made her escape and she had left me with this—this thing, I didn't take my eyes off of him.

  The prince cocked his head to the side, studying me intently like I was an odd bug under a microscope. "Your hair," he said. His voice was odd, an accent that reminded me of someone from England, but different, more lyrical. "It is the color of fire."

  Uh.

  "It's rather . . . abrasive," he added, almost as an afterthought.

  I blinked, kind of stunned because there was a good chance that the prince of the Otherworld just insulted my hair color. Frankly, I couldn't believe I was even standing in front of the prince. "I'm not here to talk about my red hair."

  He stared at me with icy eyes. "You're here to fight me then?"

  "I'm here to end you."

  A soft, musical laugh radiated from him. "You humor me, and I am feeling . . . kind." He spoke the last word like he was unfamiliar with it. "I shall let you live."

  When he stepped to the side, I blocked him. His gaze flicked to the stake I held, and his lips curled into a slow, utterly creepy smile that did nothing to add warmth to his face. "A thorn birch stake from the Otherworld, I assume?"

  "You betcha."

  "You think just because you hold one of them that you can use it successfully against me? That is silly." He dipped his chin and long strands of black hair fell against his chest. "And fatal."

  My heart was thundering in spite of my words. "You talk a lot."

  He drew back, surprise flashing across his features. "I do not wish to harm a female," he said in his weird accent. His cold gaze drifted over me. "I find that there are more pleasurable things to engage in with the fairer sex."

  "Ew," I spat. "Gross."

  He lifted a dark brow. "My kindness is rapidly diminishing."

  There was a significant part of me that wanted to turn and run. This was the prince, and despite the situation I just put myself in, I wasn't stupid. Trained as I was, squaring off with the prince was tantamount to suicide, but my duty—what I'd been raised to do—was that I never ran from the fae. I had committed an act in the past that had gone beyond dereliction of duty, and I would not do that again.

  I held my ground.

  The prince sighed heavily then snapped forward, gripping my wrist. The contact made me gasp. His skin was cold. "I give you one last chance." He increased the pressure on my wrist, but I held on to the stake. "You will not like how this ends, my lovely little bird."

  "I'm not your anything, buddy."

  "Too bad." Then he pushed me with just a flick of the hand, but it was enough force to send me skidding across the carpet.

  Apparently, his creepy Casanova speech wasn't all pageantry. I caught myself before I fell. He hadn't hurt me, and it seemed like he was giving me one last chance, but too much was at stake for me to turn and run. "What did you do to Valerie?"

  "Who? The little girl who was just here?" He tipped his head back. "I did nothing. I think she is . . . perhaps intelligent? She knows we cannot be stopped."

  "No." I shook my head as fury built inside me. "She would never willingly help your kind. She must've been compelled to do so."

  "If that makes you feel better."

  Holding on to the disbelieving anger, I launched forward and spun to my left. I swung with the stake, but the space where he'd stood was empty. I stumbled back. "What the . . .?"

  "Too slow."

  I spun around and found him standing there, a small smile on his face. I dropped, sweeping my leg out, but hit nothing but air again.

  "You cannot fight me, little bird."

  Now I was starting to get irked. Jumping to my feet, I spun, about to deliver one hell of an awesome roundhouse kick, but the prince popped out of existence and then his arms were around me. He lifted me off my feet like I was nothing but a small child troubling him.

  "I no longer have any more patience," he said into my ear, sending an icy chill down my spine. "Or kindness left in me."

  Oh damn.

  Throwing my head back, I hit his chin, snapping his head to the side. The prince dropped me and my knees cracked off the floor. I lifted my head to find him standing directly in front of me.

  Double damn on a Sunday.

  There was no time to react. His hand was suddenly around my throat, and he lifted me clear off the floor. I swiped out with the stake, grazing his chest. Blood hissed out from the shallow wound, bubbling like lava.

  Speaking in a language I didn't understand, he caught my wrist holding the stake and twisted until my hand opened despite my frantic attempt to hold on to it. The stake slipped from my grasp, falling harmlessly from my fingers, and then both hands were around my neck.

  I'd taken my last breath before I realized it. Panicked, I kicked at him and clawed at his grip, but his fingers dug in deep. "Fly, little birdie."

  I was suddenly soaring backward through the air. I hit one of the empty folding tables, toppling it over. I landed on the floor on my side, dragging in deep breaths around the pain lancing up and down my ribs.

  Jesus, I could barely breathe through it. I pushed onto my forearms, my body trembling with the effort to stand. My chest felt too constricted as I lifted my head. One second he was across the room and the next he was right in front of me. Reaching around blindly, I grabbed a metal chair and swung, crying out as the pain in my side knocked the wind out of me.

  "Please," the prince said, catching and ripping the chair out of my hands.

  Blazing pain rushed across my jaw and the side of my face as I was served an epic backhand with a metal chair. I stumbled to the side, dropping to my knees. Blood pooled in my mouth, spilling out between my lips—my torn lip. Something—his foot?—slammed into my stomach, flipping me onto my back. Before I could taste the raw fear building in the back of my throat, the panic that surely came seconds before you knew you were in trouble, there was a flash of bright light behind my eyes as another wave of pain burst along my cheek.

  I was going to die.

  In that moment, the clarity of the situation rang out. Before, I believed I hadn't been afraid of dying but of living while everyone else perished around me, but I was wrong. A terror I never knew before rose like insidious smoke, choking me. I didn't want to die. Not now. Not when I'd just started to really live again. Not when I was falling for Ren, falling in—love? Oh God. The too little, too late realization cut deeper than the physical pain, lighting up my chest. Tears rushed my eyes, but I could barely see out of them as it was. They didn't seem to be working right.

  Pain . . . pain was everywhere. With every breath I took it overloaded my senses. Something important inside me had come unhinged, split wide open. A searing hurt roared through me as I felt the prince kneel over me, his knees on either side of my body. I tried to lift my arms, but every nerve ending was firing in rebellion. A darkness clung to the edges of my consciousness, outlining the world around me in a smoggy haze. My tongue felt too heavy as the prince's blurry face came into view.

  "You should've left when you had the chance, little bird." Disgust cloaked his tone, and then he leaned down, his face in mine. "I gave you the . . ." He trailed off, inhaling deeply, audibly.

  I sensed that the prince had frozen above me, and then I felt his hand on my cheek. He raised it to his mouth, his fingers tipped in red. The encroaching darkness was spreading, but I thought . . . I thought he had tasted my blood, and that just put the fuckity in the fuck.

  He jerked back, and I had the distinct impression that his skin had paled and then he was in my face again. "No," he said.

  Then he made a sound that reminded me of a curse before whispering a word I didn't understand—a word that was English, but couldn't have been what I thought he'd said.

  Reaching between us, he gripped the collar of my shirt with both han
ds and tore it open like it was made of tissue paper. My heart, weak and spent, stuttered as a different kind of panic set it. He placed his hand on the center of my chest, and his hand didn't roam, but his . . . his palm warmed and the heat scalded my skin, burning deep into the tissue and muscles. The strangest fire rushed through me.

  A door somewhere burst open, wood splintering against the wall. There were shouts—some recognizable but sounding so very far away. The prince rose with a rush of chilled air. He seemed to collapse into himself, and where a man once stood, there was only a raven.

  The creature spread its majestic wings, like two feathered arms. The raven rose to the ceiling, disappearing out of my sight,