TRUE (A Fire Born Novel Book 3)

by Laney McMann

  "So I'll be safe—just without you." Her voice caught and everything inside me felt as if it were ripped apart. I wanted to run to her, make the pain end. "What kind of life is that? Do you know? Do you? Because I know. I lived that life. For years I lived it. Without you. And I've never been more miserable. I'd rather fight every day to keep you near me than have you walk away. I'd rather pay that price, Max. I'm not afraid to pay it. I can't believe you're standing here telling me that you are."

  I'd had no idea what to say in response. She was right.

  Her gaze focused on mine. "The day I told you I was in—on opening night—I meant it."

  "You walked away from me before—remember? You left me." I'd yelled. "So don't tell me this is all my fault. You chose to run because you thought you were protecting me. How is this any different?"

  "Because I was wrong!" Her weight gave—and she sank against the edge of the bed. "Okay? Because I was wrong."

  My breathing stopped. "Lay ..."

  "I don't want my safety," she'd whispered, staring up at me with tears threatening to spill. "I want you."

  *****

  Reaching for my cloak, I threw it on, and crept out my bedroom door. I edged down the dark corridor, and my breath stuck in my throat as Kaevnor wrapped her shaggy mess of fur against my ankle. "What are you doing?" I whispered. She followed me, her tail standing straight up. "You're kind of creepy."

  I'd learned the way of the castle fairly quickly during my short stay, and from the side of the Keep my quarters was on, the quickest way toward the second story overhang where the cells were kept wasn't too bad a walk, except for passing through the fun-room dining area with all the weird mirrors hanging on the walls. The tricky part was whether or not Elethan would be in his study at the base of the stairs. I decided I would simply walk toward it like that was my intention should I run into someone. No one would question 'Master MacKenzie' wanting to have a quick chat with Dad.

  The darkness of night pressed into the castle through one of the larger windows on the lower level, and something caught my eye in the distance. A glint of color, or a flash of white, I wasn't sure. Stopping, I squinted into the darkness, and something glittered again. Kaevnor meowed. With a shake of my head, I unlatched the window, checked to my right and left to make sure the corridor was clear, and glanced down at the cat.

  "Don't follow me."

  She hissed, and I slipped out the open window and onto the flat landscape below, boots slipping on fresh ice. Throwing my hood up, I made my way through the darkness toward the flash.

  8

  LAYLA

  "You really think training in the dark is smart?" I complained. "I can't see anything."

  "Exactly. If you can't see yourself, then no one else will be able to see you either." Even in the dark, I could make out Justice's white teeth in his arrogant flash of a smile.

  "Until I start a fire or something." I moped, thinking his plan was the worst ever. "Then even the Otherworld will see me. And it's freezing out here." I kicked a small clump of snow on the ground. "Since when does it snow here?"

  "Like I would know?" He tossed me the cloak I recognized from the closet in my chambers. "Put this on. I thought we could work on throwing the dagger tonight. We'll work on fire tomorrow."

  I caught the robe-shawl-cape thing but dropped it at my feet. I had no intention of putting it on. I'd rather freeze than resemble one of the Fomorians. "I thought I didn't need weapons training. We don't have enough time for this, Justice. I'm better just facing off with Max and getting it over with. Whatever happens, happens." Easier said than done, but the anticipation was starting to become far worse than the idea of just fighting. My imagination was growing wilder and wilder. I pictured horrible things: Max with black eyes, stabbing me in the chest. Max living the rest of his life with Ana. Having a family with her. My family dying, as the Otherworld was attacked. Never seeing Benny again.

  "Here." Justice stuck a white piece of paper into a nearby tree with one of the rusty knives he'd taken from the training room. Under the slivered red moon, I could just make out the paper. "Aim at this and let the dagger fly. I want to see if you have any accuracy at all."

  With a groan, I held the knife in my hand by the hilt and reared my arm back near the side of my head, squinting toward the small square in the dark.

  "What are you doing?"

  "What do you mean, what am I doing? You asked me to throw the knife."

  "It's not a football." He trudged toward me, ice crunching beneath his boots. "It's all in the wrist. You have to flick it with purpose and power, not toss it in the air so someone can catch it and throw it back at you."

  "Sorry I'm not a master at the art of knife throwing."

  "Just watch." He grabbed one of the other knives he'd brought from the training room off the ground near his feet. "You hold it like this." Justice gripped the tip of the blade in his fingers. "Plant your feet so you're not off balance and aim at your target." With a flick of his wrist, he let the blade go. It sunk into the center of the paper with a thunk. "Easy." His white teeth flashed in the dark again as we walked to retrieve the knife. "Your turn." He handed me the dagger, hilt first.

  "You want me to use yours instead of this one?" I still held the Demon blade in my hand.

  Justice gave a shrug. "Don't think it matters."

  With a deep breath, I dropped my knife on the ground and gripped his rusty one. Copying his movements, I planted my feet a little ways apart and held the knife by the tip of the blade. With a quick toss, it flipped end over end through the air, went wide, and flew past the tree, landing in the dirt.

  Justice laughed. Hard.

  "Will you shut up?" I stomped passed him and snatched the dagger off the ground. "I've never thrown a knife before."

  "It's not that hard." He chuckled. "Try again. You can do it."

  Without planting my feet or doing anything he showed me, I let the knife fly again and missed.

  Justice howled with laughter, doubled over beside me, the condensation from his breath sending white puffs into the air.

  I shoved him in the shoulder before snatching the Demon blade off the ground at my feet. Taking up my stance, I balanced and aimed for the only white square amongst the trees. Heat bubbled through my hands, an odd sensation zinged up my arm, and the blade left my grip without volition. In a perfect arc, it soared straight and sunk up to the hilt, embedded in the center of the square.

  Justice stopped laughing and let out a low whistle, while I stood frozen, the prickling sensation in my arm and hand fading away.

  "Told you, you could do it." He nudged my shoulder with his and walked toward the tree line.

  "I didn't do it," I said under my breath, still not moving.

  "Huh?" Justice held out the knife to me as he walked back, but I shook my head, staring at it, refusing to take it.

  "I didn't throw the dagger. It just left my hand on its own." I glanced at him, shaking a little. "It threw itself."

  Justice's blue eyes widened, the whites showing clearly in the dark. "Hm. Well, it is a cursed blade." He held it in his hand like he was testing its weight. "Wielded by the Gods." He glanced up. "Try it again? Just so we can see what happens a second time?"

  I swallowed hard, staring at it. It looked so ordinary, nothing about the steel or the handle had any special significance, but it had felt alive when I'd held it. The same way it had when it cut my neck when I was outside the Shadow Realm gates.

  "Layla? It won't hurt you again. I won't let that happen."

  I nodded and took the knife in my hand. Immediately, it quivered. A minute tremor against my skin as if my touch had woken it up. "It's doing it again," I said, staring at the blade.

  "Doing what?"

  "It ... vibrates." As the words left my mouth, the zinging sensation traveled over the face of my hand and up my arm, and the knife flew off my palm, embedding itself into the paper on the tree again.

  "Hm." Justice stood still, staring. "It seems to li
ke you at least."

  "Like me?"

  "It did what you wanted it to. Aimed itself where you were trying to aim it." He shrugged. "I take that as a good sign."

  "But ... I can't use a knife that has a mind of its own. That's ... crazy!"

  "I don't know if it has a mind of its own. I think it must sync itself to the God it's with. Or Goddess." He wrenched it out of the tree again and handed it to me. "It likes you."

  "You are the weirdest person I've ever known." I stared at him. "I don't want it to like me! It's cursed. It cut me. It did this to my neck!" I pointed at my throat.

  "I know what it did, and now I can't help but wonder if it's because you wanted it to." He eyed me. "What else did Agrona tell you outside the gates?"

  "She said a lot of things." My voice shrilled as I threw my hands up in the air. "She talks in riddles, you've heard her, and I have no idea what she means half the time, much less when I'm hallucinating." My teeth chattered. "The stupid memory washing potion I took scrambled my brain around!"

  Justice snatched the cloak off the ground and draped it over my shoulders. "Do you remember her telling you to cut yourself or anything like that?"

  "Yeah," I mumbled, not making eye contact while shoving my trembling arms through the sleeves, not caring anymore if I looked like King Elethan himself as long as I was warm. "Yeah," I said again when he didn't respond. "She said a small incision would do. She touched my throat where she wanted me to put the blade."

  His mouth hung open when I glanced back up at him. "So you just ... did what she asked?"

  "Apparently! I was completely out of it—seeing things! Do you know the definition of hallucinate?"

  "Okay, okay ..." He held his hand up. "Let's just ... try throwing the dagger again. See where else it will go. Aim for a different spot."

  I heaved a breath, threw my hood up to keep my ears from freezing off, and turned to my right where another group of scraggly trees were barely visible in the dark. Planting my feet, I aimed at the skinniest one in the center, and the zinging vibration raced up my arm. The knife left my fingertips and wedged itself into the tree trunk.

  Justice whistled again. "I'm guessing that's the tree you were aiming for."

  I sighed, said, "Yeah," and started walking toward the dagger.

  "Maybe it's the Ogham," Justice said, coming up behind me. "The Coat of Arms. It is a Demon blade. Maybe it recognizes you as a Fomorian."

  "Great." I turned back, blade in hand. "Really, you can stop talking now."

  He grinned like he was having fun. Knowing Justice's twisted definition of fun, I was sure it was the case. Dropping the Demon blade near the pile of rusted blades, I noticed movement under a sliver of the moon's red light in the distance—a slight shift in the tree line—and the air changed. Different from what it was before. Breezy. I stopped, breaths stuck in my throat. There was only one person who could create wind out of nothing. Blood sped through my veins with a burning heat.

  "What?" Justice turned, facing the direction I was staring.

  Seeing without seeing, I knew who was there. My heart rate picked up further, and Ryan walked out of the darkness with a sly grin. Justice pushed me behind him, and his transformation from human into the gargoyle was instant and monstrous.

  "You have one chance to turn your ass around and walk away before I rip your throat out." Justice's tone was deep and gravelly, his blue eyes set on his target.

  Ryan continued to smile, and unlike the time I'd seen him in the club REBELLION in downtown Historia, his gargoyle form torn apart and bleeding, open wounds and puss covering his body, in his human form he looked healthy, friendly even. Ryan held his hands up, palms out. "I'm just minding my own business, walking the grounds. I heard voices." He came closer, his posture at ease, baseball hat pulled low and framing his eyes, his hands casually in his jeans pockets. "I wasn't expecting it to be you."

  "Surprise." There was no warmth in Justice's response. "A little chilly to be out for a stroll all alone."

  Ryan's shoulders popped up and down. "What are you guys doing out here?" His tone remained light, curious. "Training her in the dark?" His gaze went toward the knives at Justice's feet. "With blades?" He chuckled. "She'll need a lot more than those to have a chance. Actually, what am I saying? She has no chance at all. The Battle is simply a formality to kill the girl without retribution from the Otherworld. And then we'll be free." He smiled again, and glanced behind him, toward the trees. "But surely you know that. I hope you aren't giving her any false hope. Even you are suffering."

  "Ryan." The sound of Max's voice through the darkness almost took me to my knees. Something inside of me, something deep and dormant, fluttered awake. MacCoinnich.

  Justice nudged me further back, but my gaze remained focused, centered on the section of trees Max's voice had come from. A tingle shivered across the surface of my skin.

  Max was only a shadow in the dark. An obscure figure, but I recognized the way he moved. The steady, confident steps he took—never off balance, never wavering. Broad, proud shoulders came into view under the red moonlight, but his head and face were covered by a hood—his body swathed in the same cloak I'd seen on him before. He stopped a few feet away from me and Justice, his chest rising and falling, heaving where he stood still. His stance veered toward Ryan.

  "Look who I found," Ryan said in a gleeful, deranged tone. "We could end it here. No crowds. Why wait? I'll take Justice. You take the girl. We're on the same side now."

  Justice growled.

  Max's hands opened and closed, a sure sign he was about to snap, and the wind picked up. I couldn't tell if he looked in our direction, and he didn't move out of the shadows or come any closer. It was as if he was having an internal struggle. "Let's go, Ryan." His tone was hard like he'd had to force the words out. A fury I knew well.

  "Aw, come on, I just got here and look who I see first," Ryan went on, clearly oblivious to Max's body language or the leaves rustling in the breeze. "It would be quick. Easy. King Elethan wouldn't mind. We could tell him she goaded you, and you lost your temper. She's taken everything away from me. From all of us." His tone grew bitter, angry. "She's nothing but a walking curse." Ryan's evil gaze centered on my face. "I'll hold her still for you so she can't fight back." He shifted into his gruesome gargoyle state and lunged toward me.

  A stiff wind shoved me backward, and too fast to track, without a sound, Justice and Max converged on Ryan in a blur. Like a perfectly trained fight team.

  The sound of steel against leather touched my ears, and a sword under Max's cloak left its scabbard in a silvery flash. Justice gripped Ryan's head, and Max's sword sang through the cold night air. Ryan never had a chance. The cut was straight and clean. Blood sprayed Max's face, Justice's face, and I stifled a scream as the severed head thumped to the ground.

  Max's hood fell back, his breath blowing clouds of white smoke into the cold black night, and the pupils in his crystal grey eyes were blown wide, black. Tendrils of what looked like ink traveled up his neck, extending toward his lower jaw. Tendrils like mine. Only green instead of golden and tipped in red. I hadn't noticed them before when I'd entered the castle in my deluded state. Max's gaze tracked my entire body, from head to foot, dark gaze roaming, landing on the gash—and the brand—on my neck. Grey eyes, not black, only the pupils are black. Am I seeing that right? The tendrils traveling up his neck to his jaw also covered his arms where his wide sleeves had slid upward, and something about them covering his skin was incredibly beautiful—and deadly.

  Max's jaw tightened, and I wanted to say something, anything, but words wouldn't come. He was different—stunning and determined as always—but unfamiliar. Untamed. I didn't speak, couldn't hear any of his thoughts as our gazes stayed locked, and my eyes centered on his from under the hood of my cloak. We may have been similarly clad, matching Oghams and brands, tendrils traveling our skin, but we weren't on the same side anymore, as much as I wanted to believe otherwise.

  His body langu
age assured me of that, and remembering the words he had said to me in the castle when I'd entered as the Raven days before—the vision of him kissing Ana—choked me into furious, glaring silence. Sparks lit up the night from my palms, an anger far greater than my own feeding into my veins. Fire sizzled under the surface of my skin, and the sparks accumulated in my hands and fizzled out on the bloody snow at my feet.

  With one last searing glance at me, Max shoved his sword back in its scabbard and drew up his hood before he walked away without a word.

  "Max," Justice shouted, and the pain was so evident in his tone it cut through my anger and brought tears to my eyes. They were like brothers, and nothing would change that. Not races, or sides, or battles. Ryan had threatened Max's life before. Threatened mine. The two people he'd sworn an oath to protect. Opposite sides or not, Justice and Max worked together and made Ryan pay for that betrayal.

  Justice called out again, confusion and sadness radiating off of him.

  Max still didn't answer.

  "The body?" he yelled.

  "Leave him to rot there." Max's cloak made a final billowing motion before he disappeared into the night, leaving bitter stillness and silence. Part of me wanted to run after him, make him explain what the hell was going on with him, what he was doing, but another part, the part of myself that replayed the image of him telling me it was over, that part wanted to burn the castle to the ground with him inside of it. The part of me that wasn't me at all, not Layla, but Teine.

  Justice glanced back toward me.

  "Let him go," I said, unsurprised that my voice wasn't my own. "He's one of them."

  Justice averted his gaze and shouted one last time, "Max ..."

  9

  MAX

  I couldn't make it back to my chambers fast enough. Running didn't help. It only made me want to run harder, faster, further away. The bloody sword lay on the cold stone floor near my bed. My hands, face, and clothes were scarlet.

  How many times did I tell Ryan to get help? Go to my grandmother and get help! Goddammit!