NECROSIS (Nerys Newblood Book 2)

by Lucy Smoke

  He sighs, but there is amusement in his movements in my mind. Once my spirit is released, instead of traveling to the nearest host, the method of your death will allow me choice. If your potentials have not pulled you free before I return then I will pull you out before you’ve been under for too long. I will not be away from you long, young Nerys. I will return.

  And Edwin? I have to ask.

  I will eradicate the threat of Death's child if I can before I return to you. All will be well once more. This, I swear to you.

  I nod and take one more breath before I close my eyes and disappear beneath the depths of Queen Jiang's tears. Once I feel the cold water over the top of my head, I open my eyes. The current of the pool sweeps me back so that I float just below the surface, staring through the mirrored image of the cavern's ceiling as it slowly dissipates and becomes an image—several images—of something new.

  My lips part in surprise as I see Booker's face hovering over me. The reflection is so life like I almost panic and think he's right there about to pull me out before the water has done its work. Then Booker's face turns away, looking over his shoulder at something. He nods before turning back and his lips quirk in the way I've come to know they do when he's trying to refrain from smiling. I like it so much when he smiles. His cheeks rise, and his eyes light up with amusement.

  Booker's face fades away, a ghosting mist that transforms into a pair of charcoal gray eyes and a square face with shorter hair on the top of his head. Coen's brows are creased together in the way that makes me want to rub my thumb between them and ease his worry. His lips part as those mesmerizing eyes of his sharpen.

  "Nerys..." I blink and he disappears.

  Nerys, Obidian says in a way that tells me it's not the first time he has tried to call my attention back. I shake my head, the water by my ears moving as my hair floats up and brushes over my shoulders.

  Nerys, if you sink too far, I will come for you. Can you hear me? His voice is fading and more faces are crowding the water's surface in front of me. Nerys? I will come for you. Nerys...

  Luca and Holden smile at me, holding out their hands for me to take. One smile is filled with mischief and the other is filled with warm understanding. My lashes flutter as my eyes close, but instead of the hallucination disappearing altogether, Titus appears behind my closed lids. Blue eyes beckoning me forward into an ocean. I can feel the waves lashing at my feet as I step forward into the dreamy image.

  In the real world, my limbs grow heavier, my body sinking deeper. Bubbles lift from between my lips as the last of my air drifts upward. A tingling starts in the tips of my fingers and toes, spreading fast as the frost crawls into my veins and straight towards my heart.

  Darkness creeps along the edges of my consciousness. I open my mouth to call for someone, but I don't want to call out for just one person, I want to call out for five.

  It's time, Nerys, Obidian announces. His words sound even further away than before, a noise that I can easily tune out.

  I will return… Obi's last words in my mind evaporate and once more, I am blessedly and cursedly alone. My mind palace is mine once more. I struggle to lift my eyes but find the task impossible to complete. I don't feel so cold anymore.

  I disappear until I don't feel anything anymore. I hear the ocean's call. I don’t follow it so much as it pulls me away, down into the darkness of death.

  Epilogue Part 1: Luca

  Cold air drifts across my face as I roll over in bed, and the sheets slide from my chest. I sniff absently, scenting for the group. Even in the different places they are, and half-drowsy as I am, I can sense their bodies. Titus. Holden. Coen. Booker—and the soft, distant, scent of my little daimon. I settle back and just as I’m about to fall under the sweet oblivion of night, a niggle of something pricks at my mind.

  My eyes crack open, and I sit up slowly, lifting my nose in the air, sniffing. Nerys’ scent is near Booker’s, but it is several hours old. I pull the sheets away from my lap and swing my legs to the side. Once I’ve cracked the door to my bedroom, I shift—letting my four legs fall to the stone and raising my sense of smell until it is heightened ten times over.

  My snout lifts, moving from side to side, and I take off running down the corridor. Walls of gray stone and bright bulbs of fire torches blur past me. Her room, empty. Booker’s room—just him. I sniff around the bottom of his door, before shifting back into his form. I knock on the door and wait.

  I hear him yawn, stretch. His hands on the sheets, moving, searching, pausing. Then he’s up and the door is opening. With the door open, her smell is more pronounced, but it leads away now.

  “Where is Nerys?” I ask.

  “She was here when I fell asleep,” he replies. He looks exhausted. I can feel the pangs of strain through our bond. A part of me wants to urge him back to sleep, but something feels wrong. Something feels off. I sniff the air coming from his room, my eyes widening.

  “Did you—”

  He cuts me off with a look. “We will discuss it with the group or not at all,” he growls.

  I step back, lowering my guard so he can feel my emotions through the bond I have with him as his familiar. “I’m not a threat,” I say. “Whatever you do with Nerys—as long as she consented, and I know she would have because you are a man of honor—is between the two of you.” And yet, still, my chest clenches. He can feel the truth of my words, I can see the evidence in his expression, but he can also feel the curl of jealousy there as well.

  “I cannot smell her on the grounds,” I say.

  His eyes widen. “Where’s the last place you can smell her?” he demands.

  “Here.”

  Our gazes clash and we realize it in the same instant. “She’s gone,” I say.

  “Fuck!” It’s rare enough to hear him curse, but the rise of blood to his cheeks and the pulsating anger—the fear—I see on his face is even more unusual. “Wake the others,” he commands before slamming his door closed.

  I bolt into action. My little daimon is going to do something. I can feel it in my bones. Whatever it is, it’s bad. We have to reach her before it’s too late. I rush, sprinting down the corridors—flying by closed doors and holy men and women trailing the outside courtyards. I wake the others, dragging them all out of their beds, throwing clothes at them.

  “Get up. The little daimon is gone,” I say. Perhaps it’s my lack of gentleness or my growling tone—too close to the beast inside me—but they listen without issue. With cold, worried faces, they hurry to follow me. Booker is already in the courtyard. A pack slung over one shoulder.

  He looks at me and hands me a vial. “Drink this and then shift,” he commands. “No matter how faded her scent, you’ll find it.”

  I stare back at him as I lift the glass bottle and drain it, not even wincing at the foul aftertaste it leaves on my tongue. My bones contort, changing, shifting. I fall to the ground, back on all fours. I will find Nerys. I have to. And whatever she’s running from—if she’s running from something—I will tear it apart.

  Epilogue Part 2: Titus

  Cold bites at my skin, sharp pangs nipping at my flesh like small blood-thirsty insects, as we crest the next mound. Snow falls faster as we pick up the pace. Luca is ahead, his canine senses following Nerys' scent. A trail, he says, that is much harder to pick up in this blasted weather. So hard, that Booker has had to give him an enhancement potion meant to speed things along. And speed them along they have, but not fast enough for me.

  Booker trudges in front of the rest of us, somehow not tiring in the painful cold. There’s something in his gait—a determination so profound I haven’t seen before. His shoulders are stiff as he turns his face, looking ahead.

  "Is there any sign of her yet?" I call ahead.

  Booker calls back a response, but whatever it is, it's lost on the wind. Holden turns his head and looks back at me, shaking it in a negative. Anger and frustration curl in my gut.

  What was she thinking? I wonder. I close my eyes and
try—for what feels like the hundredth time—to reach for her mind. Unbeknown to Nerys, he had been instructing us on the way mental and magical bonds worked. Like a rope where a fire burned on both ends—each of us was able to go forward. Except unlike the rope, we could return to our own minds. But each time I reach for her now, I come up empty. At first, Booker said that it was likely her own walls strengthening over time. As she got used to it, she no longer projected her thoughts to us.

  I had been relieved at first. I knew she hadn't meant to bind us so directly and she wouldn't have had she been given another choice, but it felt as though my privacy had been invaded. Now, I'd give up all of the privacy in the whole world for another chance at getting to her thoughts. Maybe if we had kept that path open, one of us would have noticed what she was planning.

  I struggle to pull my cloak tighter against me as we trudge through knee deep snow. Where are her footsteps? I wonder. The snow has been bad. It's possible they've been refilled by the falling flurries. The weight of my sword and dagger on my hips drags against the resistance of the wind and my own clothes. Ice falls into the tops of my boots and begins to soak through my trousers. If we don't find her soon, I worry we'll have to turn back. I can't allow that. We can't turn back.

  Memories of Nerys covered in snow, Nerys laughing, Nerys kissing me in the bathroom of my family's townhouse invade my mind. The sensation of her lips sliding over mine, the electricity, the whirlwind, the unstoppable nature of the daimon that had stolen my heart pervades my every sense. I cannot lose her. And as I look ahead—watching Coen and Holden's hardened stares as they move in silence, their determination palpable—I realize I'm not alone.

  Luca barks once, the sound carrying over the distance between us. All of our gazes, turned away from the wind, suddenly snap back.

  "There's a cave!" Booker yells back to us, the sound filtering over my ears as if coming from down a long well, even though he's only a few dozen steps from me.

  Immediately, our movements quicken, our breath comes faster—the white clouded puffs, a telltale sign of our exertion as we head for it.

  The mouth of the cave is like a gaping hole in the side of the mountain and as we enter, I turn, the last one of the group, and look back. Down the mountain, I see little spots of fire, but something seems off. They're moving too close together and far too fast. Another thing, they're nowhere near the sanctuary. It's the army of Euron, marching against the Holy Order. The war has come.

  Epilogue Part 3: Holden

  Never in my life have I been this terrified. I can feel the fear crawling up through my skin, so filled to the brim with such agony that I can’t breathe. I see the body in the pool of water towards the back of the ice-covered cave, and my heart stops. Shoving Booker out of the way, leaping over Luca's four-legged form, I feel the icy waters around my trouser legs before I realize where I am. I reach for her, my arms closing over her upper arms as I drag her back, up the steps that lead down into the spring.

  Almost as soon as I'm out of the churning waters, ice freezes over the fabric of my cloak. Nerys is in nothing but her underclothes, her skin tinted blue. Her lips, once so vibrant and pink, are pale and purple. I tap her cheek, slapping my palm softly against it. When I get no response, not even a flicker behind her closed eyes, I press my fingers against her neck.

  "She's not breathing!" I snap, rushing to lay her flat out.

  "Booker!" Titus calls from the mouth of the cave. I've never heard him raise his voice, but I don't have time to see what he's calling for. Booker's head jerks up from where he stands, hovering over me—digging through his bag, hopefully searching for something, anything, to revive her. His eyes are tightened, his face no longer flushed, but pale and haggard.

  I don't know what he sees on Titus' face, but whatever it is has him ripping the bag from his shoulder and shoving it at Coen before hurrying towards the front of the cave. He points back to me. “Do not let her die,” he growls forcefully.

  I ignore his command. As if I would ever willingly let that happen to her. I cup my hands over Nerys' face, but it feels like any warmth I could give her is only leeching away and the chill emanating from her skin burns against my flesh. I don't care. Let it fucking burn.

  "Why would she do this?" I ask. "What the fuck was she thinking? Did she think her death would stop the war? Is that it?" I look up to Coen for confirmation.

  “She’s going to be okay,” is all he says. His voice is gruff, filled with an emotion I don’t care to unpack. “She will be.”

  Luca whines and barks once.

  I don't respond. Instead, I hold her to me. Over my shoulder, Booker and Titus talk hurriedly. Booker turns on his heel and stomps back to the rest of us, ripping his cloak from his shoulders. "Wrap her in this," he says, shoving it at me. "We have to go."

  "What's going on?" Coen demands.

  Booker turns to him and takes his bag back as I attempt to wrap her up in his dry cloak. I would give her mine, but it is a mess—crusted with ice and ruined. His eyes follow me as I lift her in my arms, watching with far more focus than usual. I shake my head and fixate on the woman in my arms.

  “Please, Nerys," I say. "I love you. Don't you fucking leave me."

  "The army is here, we have to get back to the Sanctuary," Booker says, his voice strung tightly.

  Titus and Coen watch me, pain in both their faces as they look down at the girl who has drawn the five of us together. I worried before that—when we were finally safe or at least away from all of the running and pressure of the darkness following after us like a persistent thundercloud—she might choose someone else. She’s known Coen for years, they must be the closest. Booker has the most to offer financially, he’s loaded with money and intelligence. It would make sense if she chose him instead of me. Titus looks like a golden-haired fallen angel. Luca trudges back to the mouth of the cave, looking over his shoulder with his pointed ears laid back. He loves her too, I know. We all fucking do.

  I stand, lifting her against my chest.

  "I can take her," Coen says, reaching for her.

  I shake my head and something passes between us, a sense of understanding. An unholy roar of rage and of something else—something defiant—reverberates across the mountain tops. It vibrates up the tall snow-capped tops. The five of us freeze. A black spot in the distance begins to grow larger. My eyes widen as I hold Nerys' body closer.

  My eyes turn down to her, wondering, and I see a flicker of movement behind her eyelids. "Nerys?" All eyes turn towards me and the body in my grasp.

  Coen sees it too and he bolts forward. "Nerys!" His hand touches the side of her face. He doesn't even flinch at the coldness of her skin. "Wake up. Come on, baby, wake up."

  "Can you hear us, Princess?"

  Please hear us.

  Epilogue Part 4: Nerys Reborn

  Death is soft white sand as far as the eye can see. A beach that stretches along either side of where I sit. Death isn’t just the beach, it’s the waves of crystal clear ocean too. The silent ocean that stretches out and then reaches back in with quiet whispers.

  The sounds, the sight, the smells, the taste of salt on my tongue tell me that I’m standing in front of a great giant wave of ocean water just waiting to swallow me whole. I watch as the tide ebbs and flows, comes in and goes out, growing nearer and nearer with each passing movement. I look down.

  My bare feet sink into the wet sand, the salty, clingy particles sticking to my soles and toes. A white gown, not unlike the one that had appeared on me in the dream that Edwin had invaded, falls around my ankles. It is clean and pure. It is also the same color as my skin.

  I reach out for Obidian in my mind, but he is not there. This time, there is no wall separating us. He is simply not there. I am back to the way I was before he came to me. Or no…? Not quite. There is something in my limbs, something heavy and hot. I glance down at my hands, lifting my arms and turning them to see where my veins cross. My veins are no longer the blue that they once were. They are
no longer filled with blood, but instead, a great golden glow. A power that is not Obidian’s, but mine.

  But what is power if I’m all alone? Almost as soon as I have that thought, though, a voice calls out to me.

  “Ho there!” My head turns at the distinct sound of a man’s voice. When I see who it is striding across the sand, I scramble to my feet. “Young lady!”

  I stare in shock as King Matric strides across the sand, clad in the same thing I’m wearing: a gauzy white slip of fabric, almost see through aside from the second layer beneath the first. The fabric is dragging on the sand under our bare feet. Dark, curly chest hair peeks out from beneath the collar of his robe. He stops in front of me, his face more open in death than I ever saw of him in life.

  “You look familiar,” he says.

  I blink at him. I don’t know what to say. Here stands the man who chased me from his kingdom to Cephei and he’s dead like me. I knew he was. He’s been dead for weeks now. Has it been longer? I wonder. Why is he still here?

  “Did you hear me?” he asks. “Can you speak?”

  “I heard you,” I say.

  He laughs, the sound jerky and uncomfortable as if he senses my volatile emotions. “Well, I’m glad I found you. I haven’t seen a soul here in... well, since I got here actually. To be honest, I was afraid I was all alone.”

  He’s so normal. Ruddy cheeks flushed with life, though he’s anything but alive. He continues to talk, his mouth moving at the speed of light and the words rush together until all I hear is inane chatter. Uncomfortable, nervous, chatter. I look around. For an escape? Maybe. But, truly, I look around to see if perhaps there’s other evidence of my hallucination because that’s what he must be. A hallucination.

  “—you here?” His voice comes back, tilting up at the end as he asks another question.