“Loki, no!”
“Oh, shit. He’s going to eat me.” The cat twitched, launching himself nearly a foot in the air, then scrambled past her, skidding for shelter behind Ascher’s legs, peering at the pup in horror. “Don’t let the devil’s spawn eat me. I’ll do whatever you want.”
Ascher stilled, his expression pained, and she couldn’t help smiling at the irony of a cat hiding behind a hellhound. The cat was more than twice the size of the gardog and should’ve been able to wipe the floor with Loki. Draven coughed, struggling to hold back his laughter, while Ryder and Kincade appeared as bewildered as she felt.
Morgan leaned down, snatching up the little pup before he could pounce. His butt wiggled in her hands, his paws running as if he was still on the ground, his tail lashing back and forth as he struggled to escape.
“Bad dog.” Morgan tapped him on his nose, and he stilled, peering up at her. His face was so close to hers, his red eyes were slightly crossed, and she couldn’t resist kissing his snout. “We’re sure not in Kansas anymore.”
He jumped off her hands, landing on her shoulder, before he stretched out, curling his tail around her neck as he made himself comfortable. His eyes slid shut, and he pretended to sleep while he watched the cat through the narrowed crack of his eyelids.
“What are you doing down here?” Morgan peered down at the large…cat?
“My job. Without me, rodents would take over this place.” His chest puffed up and his yellow eyes sparkled in pleasure as he licked his lips. “The mice are delicious, but I would suggest you stay away from the rats. They’re sneaky bastards.”
He ran a paw self-consciously over his right ear, where a notch was missing at the edge. Some of his whiskers were broken, his fur missing in spots, probably a result of old battle scars. While he might be a cat—well, except for the wings—he was definitely a scrapper. “Where are the dungeons?”
His eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head, strutting away, his tail full of swagger. “You don’t want to go there. The best place to find the mice is on the third level. They get the table scraps, making them fat and juicy.”
Morgan swallowed hard, a tad nauseous at the idea, and shook her head. “I’m searching for a friend of mine. He came in two days ago. I need to find him.”
“Then you’re too late. He’s already dead.” He looked at her over his shoulder, his ears twitched back against his head, his lips curled up in disgust. “They don’t keep their specimens alive that long.”
Her heart felt like it was free-falling.
“You’re wrong.” He had to be wrong. She would know otherwise. “Can you show us where they keep the specimens?”
The cat paused, cocking his head to the side, his eyes narrowed. “What’s in it for me?”
“Besides sticking it to the elves?”
“Hmmmm.” He lifted his foot, cleaning it.
“The elves are up to no good.”
“They are always up to something.” The cat snorted, lowering his paw slightly. “Take me with you when you leave.”
“What?” That was the last thing she expected him to say.
“When you go back to the Academy, I want to go with you.” He set his paws on the ground and held perfectly still.
“Morgan—”
“Agreed, but you must remain within the Academy grounds at all times.” Morgan didn’t hesitate, ignoring Kincade’s warning. They didn’t have time to haggle. The elves would discover they were gone sooner rather than later, and they would come looking for them. They’d drawn too much attention to themselves, and their absence would be noticed and questioned.
The cat might be a scrapper, but he wouldn’t last much longer living here. None of them would.
“Your word.” The cat didn’t move except for the excited twitch to his whiskers, his yellow eyes gleaming brighter in the darkness.
“You have it.”
He pranced toward her, light on his feet for twenty-five pounds of solid muscle. He stopped in front of her and held out his paw. Morgan stooped and gently shook his hand, er…paw, feeling the drag of his claws against her palm.
“I’m Stanley.”
Morgan blinked at hearing such an ordinary name, when she expected something exotic to match his appearance and personality.
“What?” The cat narrowed his gaze, glaring at her suspiciously.
“I’m Morgan.” She rose to her feet, not wanting to offend their new friend, but anxious to be on their way.
Time was running out.
If they didn’t find Atlas soon, she feared they never would.
Chapter Ten
Morgan followed Stanley for ten minutes before he lifted up a paw and signaled for silence.
That’s when she smelled it.
Death.
As they silently stole past a room, curiosity got the best of her, and she peered inside.
And stopped short.
The room had two rows of crates stacked on top of each other, every one of them crammed full of people. They were barely clothed, a few of them rocking violently back and forth, while others were picking at themselves, pulling away chunks of their own flesh. They looked pale, the veins under their skin streaked black…it matched their eyes. When one lifted his head, pure madness stared back.
The fog did that to them.
Instead of killing them, they were infected with something…evil.
Morgan frantically scanned the cages, nearly slumping in relief when she didn’t find Atlas.
“We go.” Stanley tugged on her leg, but when she continued to ignore him, he set claws into her shin. “Now. Before it’s too late.”
Morgan nodded mutely, too dazed to move while her mind continued to catalog everything.
A scream from the opposite side of the room startled her so badly she jumped, the cuff on her arm melting down until she had a knife clutched in her hand. She spun, blade raised to see an elf standing over a table with one of the infected strapped to it.
She watched as the elf, without a care to his patient, picked up a scalpel and ran the blade down the center of the pitiful creature’s chest. The man screamed again, but more in rage than pain. Black tar oozed out of the wound.
They were vivisecting people.
Horror washed through her, bile rising in her throat at the lengths to which they would go to find their precious immunity. She took a step forward, when a hand wrapped around her mouth, another around her waist, and she was picked up off the floor and swung out of the doorway.
Morgan struggled, instantly recognizing Kincade’s touch, but his hold was like stone.
The bastard.
Only when they were a good distance down the corridor did Ascher speak. “There is nothing you can do.”
“You can’t be serious.” As soon as her feet touched the ground, she wrenched out of Kincade’s hold, and immediately missed the ass’s warmth.
“Those people are already lost to reason and beyond help.” Draven was grim, his eyes dark with the thirst for vengeance.
“You have a choice.” Ryder hunched over until he could look at her in the eye. “You can save them or Atlas. They will know we attacked as soon as the fighting starts.”
“Not to mention you will put the rest of the Academy in danger.” Kincade didn’t back away when she marched right up into his face.
“How can we do nothing and leave them there to be tortured?” The question was directed at herself more than him.
How could she justify rescuing one man compared to the dozens who were trapped?
“The choice is yours.” Kincade cupped her jaw and lifted her face up to his. “We will stand by your decision.”
The weight of that choice threatened to suffocate her. The logical choice was to protect as many people as possible. Atlas could take care of himself.
Draven grabbed her arm. “Them or Atlas. You can only save one. What will it be?”
“Atlas.” His name emerged as a croak.
It was no contest
, but the guilt over her decision nearly strangled her.
“Even if we rescue them, they will die without the cure.” Though it was the truth, it wasn’t the whole truth.
Atlas was more important to her.
Every instinct said they needed him.
She needed him.
Loki curled his tail tighter around her neck in comfort. The tattoo on her back heated, barely warming the chill that had invaded her soul.
“Good. Let’s get the hell out of here.” Stanley turned tail and jogged down the pathway, his tail and whiskers twitching. “This place gives me the creeps.”
Draven bumped shoulders with her as he passed, while Ryder grabbed her hand and gave a comforting squeeze. Kincade stared at her the longest. She felt his eyes on her when she followed the others. When she glanced back, his face was expressionless, but she was beginning to understand why he was being such a hard-ass…the life and death decisions he made for the team over the years had forged his spine into steel.
He couldn’t afford to give in to the softer emotions, but she had no doubt his decisions ate away at his soul.
Morgan gave Ryder a small smile, then released his hand, dropping back. Ascher brushed his arm against her as he strode past. “Though it may not feel like it, you made the right decision.”
She nodded mutely, the lump in her throat from virtually sentencing those thirty-odd people to death making speaking impossible.
Then Ascher followed the rest down the narrow passageway, leaving her alone with Kincade.
“You will eventually lead this realm, and you’ll have to make the tough decisions. Maybe I’ve been overprotective, but I wanted to spare you that for as long as possible.” He appeared torn, some of the starch had been taken out of his spine as they followed the others. “But as you’ve been reminding me over and over, you don’t need my protection.”
“You’re wrong.” Morgan swallowed, her throat aching with too many emotions. “I will always need your protection, but what I need is for you to guide me, not stand sentinel in front of me.” She refused to look at him, her dread at what the future would hold if he didn’t understand making her feel trapped. “I need you at my side to make sure I don’t turn into a person who sees nothing wrong with what they are doing here.”
“You want me to be a judgmental asshole.” His tone was wry, and she couldn’t help giving a watery laugh.
“Exactly!”
“Though it might not feel like it, you made the right choice. We don’t have enough warriors to fight. The elves would’ve taken the students hostage long before we could rescue them, possibly even expelling them from the castle, or worse, used them in their experiments.”
“They still might.” Morgan’s mood darkened. “Did you ever wonder why they gave us shelter? It wasn’t out of the goodness of their hearts.”
“I know.” Kincade was grim. “We can’t let that happen.”
For once they were in agreement.
“Not much farther.” Stanley trotted ahead, his tail swishing. “I’ll show you where the dungeons are located, but that’s as far as I go. The rest is up to you.”
“Fair enough.” Morgan couldn’t ask him to do more.
He took two more paces, then pointed to a reinforced metal door with runes etched along the frame. “If your friend is in the dungeon, he will be beyond this door. This is as far as I go.”
Without saying anything else, he turned tail and streaked away, as if terrified they would force him through the door.
After what she’d seen in the last room, Morgan couldn’t make herself reach out and open the door.
“What if—”
“Don’t.” Kincade lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his fierce gaze. “They wouldn’t keep him in the dungeon if he was dead. Don’t let doubts into your head. They will only drive you crazy.”
Morgan nodded, wanting to smack herself for letting her fears get the better of her.
“It’s warded.” Ascher grabbed her hand before she could touch the knob. “Be careful.”
Since magic didn’t affect her like the others, she was the logical choice to go first. The instant her hand touched the metal, light flared from the runes, and magic crawled up her arms like hundreds of small mice, biting and nipping at her as they went.
Morgan gritted her teeth, doing her best not to wiggle as she felt thousands of tiny paws crawl all over her. She was so distracted, it took her a moment to realize that she wasn’t being held immobile. She wrenched open the door, wincing when the metal screeched in the darkness.
She half-expected to see guards pouring into the confined hall.
Only nothing happened besides getting smacked in the face with stale air that reminded her of a tomb. If she thought the rest of the castle was in disrepair, she was wrong. Here the stones were actually turning to dust, as if they could no longer hold the weight of the outside world.
“I thought elves were supposed to be fastidious. Why would they live in this squalor?”
Chains rustled from the last cell and a ghostly figure emerged from the shadows. “The magic that keeps this place running is gone. What little magic that’s left is used to keep up appearances and protect the gates. Occupation is minimal, but pride won’t let them abandon the castle.”
“Atlas!”
Morgan rushed forward, stopping dead when he flinched and stumbled away from her, barely catching himself against the wall.
“Atlas?”
Not wishing to startle him, Morgan passed the empty cells, the metal bars across most of them having long since rusted away. Even in the meager light, she could tell something was horribly wrong. Atlas’s normally immaculate clothes were a mess, bloodied and ripped in too many spots to count. His long, beautiful hair was a snarled mess, shorn just above his collar, revealing a face so bruised she doubted he could see out of one of his eyes.
Blood was still crusted around his nose and one ear.
“You shouldn’t have come.” His voice was low and rough, not the smooth, lyrical sound she was used to hearing from him, and he coughed roughly, as if speaking had cost him.
“What have they done to you?” Her heart was in tatters.
“I deserve to be here.” When he refused to look at her, the last bit of her control shattered.
“What. The. Fuck?”
He gave a snort, then grabbed his ribs, glancing at her through the sheared edges of his hair, shame darkening his forest-green eyes as their gazes met.
She saw everything in that one look.
Not only was he ashamed for her to see him like this, he truly believed what he was saying.
“You can’t mean that.”
“I was told never to return.” He leaned heavily against the stone wall behind him, as if suddenly exhausted, and she realized the dark stains on his clothes were blood.
His blood.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She began to pace. It was either that or finish the job the elves started by strangling him herself. “I can’t believe you’re defending them.”
“You need to leave.” He limped closer, reached out to touch her until he noticed the blood and grime on his hand. He stopped, curled his fingers into a fist before dropping his arm back to his side. “You’re not safe here. They only want me. You can still escape.”
Morgan stumbled back as if he’d coldcocked her.
“Not acceptable.” She mutinously lifted her chin, crossed her arms and began to tap her foot, ignoring the slight squish of what felt like bug guts and the crunch of bones underneath her boot. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re a team. We don’t leave one of our own behind.”
Morgan didn’t understand why he was being so damned stubborn.
If she wanted him to cooperate and help abet his escape, then she had to stop playing fair.
“If you stay, then so do I.”
For the first time since she’d spotted him in his godforsaken cell, he began to crack. He scowled at her, his chains rattling with his agit
ation, and he glared at her then nodded to the guys behind her. “The elves can’t learn about her heritage. You have to make her leave. Now.”
“Nah, man.” Draven leaned against the wall and lifted his hand, inspecting his nails as if he had all the time in the world. “I was willing to leave your ass behind when I thought you were slumming it with us, but she’s right. You’re one of us now, and we don’t leave a teammate behind.”
Morgan beamed at him, especially when the other guys followed his lead by nodding their agreement.
They were giving her a short leash, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before they jerked on it and pulled her away. She needed to work fast.
She scratched the inside of her upper arm, hoping Stanley hadn’t given her fleas, watching Atlas through narrowed eyes, wondering what it would take to reach him.
Atlas threw himself forward, one hand gripping the bars, while the other one reached for her, no doubt ready to strangle her. Though he was only half elf, as soon as his hand came into contact with the metal, his skin began to smoke.
Iron.
“You stupid girl.” He bared his teeth at her, disgust filling his voice. “You would put all their lives in danger for your foolish idea of friendship. We were never friends. What do I have to do to get that through your thick skull? I was using you, because I needed you to fix this realm. You’re nothing but a pawn to help me earn back my birthright.”
Kincade swore viciously, ready to rip off his friend’s head with his bare hands, while Ryder growled low in his throat, his wolf surfacing. Ascher stalked forward, steam rising from his skin, seconds away from tearing the bastard apart. Even Draven stiffened at the harsh words, a sure sign he was ready to kill.
She raised her hand, and they halted.
His accusations were like poisoned darts that struck true, and she struggled not to succumb to the toxic words. He had a reason he wanted her gone, and she needed to think logically, without her ravaged emotions tainting everything, if she wanted to have any hope of figuring it out.
While he might be an elf, he was also half human, and his emotions were winning, splintering out of control.
He was desperate.
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