by Angel Lawson
“You’ll find nothing but shells,” he tells me. “There is nothing to bring back.”
“No. They are stronger than that. Dylan survived at the hands of the sadistic soldier, Casteel. They can too.”
He flinches at the name of the soldier. “Do you really think so? Do you think Dylan came back whole?”
“Yes.” It’s a lie. A bold lie about my lover and guardian. My sentinel. Everything in Bunny’s comment makes complete sense. Why Dylan’s so guarded. Why it’s taken so long to tear down his walls. Why his passion is so intense, much more than the others. Every moment with Dylan is a struggle, but we’re making progress. We’ve made progress. “I will heal them. Each of them.”
Something in Bunny’s eyes falter. He looks like a man searching for a lifeline—a string of hope. I know what he wants, but I can’t give it to him. The fear and rage built up inside takes over and I use his brief distraction against him, pushing him with one hand and dragging Anita with another.
Together we fall into the cold, heartless, dark.
Chapter 21
Morgan
Ice fills my veins, chilling me in a way I never knew was possible. It’s not like the air is cold—the world is cold and bleak. I feel it in every inch of my body, my brain, and my heart. The stone floors do not give and Bunny’s head cracks when we land. My sword clangs and skitters across the floor, buried beneath a pile of unused canvas. I’d go for it but I’m sprawled across Bunny’s body and trapped beneath Anita. She jabs me with a bony elbow.
“What have you done?” Bunny asks, his voice a hiss.
“Fixing what you messed up.”
His good hand wraps around my arm and he squeezes just as the sound of footsteps echo across the room.
“No, no, no, no, no,” he mumbles. His eyes are more frantic than I’ve ever seen. I turn to see what scares him and see the dark leather boots and the black uniform. It’s not the first time I’ve laid eyes on the man or the uniform, but it is the first time awake.
Casteel. I know him before he utters a word and there’s little doubt he’s aware of who I am too. His jaw is square, his shoulders massive. I eye the jagged scar under his jaw. I have a suspicion who gave him that scar.
I’ve no doubt there’s demon blood running through his veins. Something inhuman, despite his good looks and expressive eyes. He looks over my shoulder and Bunny tosses me and Anita on the floor with a one-handed heave.
“Two for the price of one,” Casteel says, looking us over. Anita quakes with excitement, like she’s won the lottery. “Well done, Guardian. You’ve sped things up considerably.”
I won’t deny that I have no idea what to do from here. How could I? I didn’t expect Bunny to try to stop me. I didn’t anticipate anything about this situation. I’m off-kilter—not something you want entering a battle, so I do the only thing I can: pick a fight.
Bunny is close enough that from the ground I shift to my hip, swiping my legs to knock him off balance. He falls, allowing his useless arm to take the brunt of the landing. Without remorse, I punch above the cheekbone before lunging for the hidden sword. My fingers graze the hilt but massive hands pull me back. My entire body slides across the floor. I use the momentum and skirt between Casteel’s legs, then kick the commander in the back of the knees, forcing him to buckle. I take two paintbrushes from the worktable and stab both into his neck.
Anita watches the fight happily and Bunny looks stunned. Too stunned, and I pick up a jar of turpentine and toss it at his face. He ducks and it hits the smoldering fire, glass shattering on impact. The combustion behind his back is furious and hot. I use the distraction to dart for the door. The stairwell I dreamed about is on the other side. If I follow it down, it will take me to my men. To my mates.
Even I know that’s not going to happen.
Not now.
Casteel roars like a lion, pulling the shards of broken wood from his neck. I raise my hands to call on the magic I’ve used twice before, but he flicks his wrist and my vocal cords squeeze shut.
I grasp my throat with both hands. Within moments I’m deprived of air and fall to my knees. Casteel walks over, blood dripping down his black tunic. He yanks me to my feet and narrows his eyes.
Black spots fill my vision. Suffocation is close. Through the haze, I see Bunny’s expression. It’s made of stone.
I blink and smell the reek of his demon breath against my cheek. “Looks like you need a time out.”
And then the world turns black.
Chapter 22
Dylan
The apartment smells of the final stage of sickness that soon will cross over into death. Hildi sits on the edge of the bed, holding her lover’s hand. The Valkyrie doesn’t look much better, but her heartbeat is strong, even if her emotions are weak.
“Do you know? Can you tell?” I ask, trying not to be insensitive.
“She’s got a little time. The goddess hasn’t asked me to bring her home. Not yet.”
It’s an odd position to be placed in—working between life and fate. Before Morgan knew her true destiny, I felt torn between the two; preserving her innocence while championing her future. From the look of Andi’s translucent skin and gray lips, I don’t see much of a future here.
“How’s Morgan?” Hildi asks, obviously wanting to change the subject.
“She’s struggling,” I admit. “Probably more than I understand. She’s carrying a lot of guilt and anger.”
I don’t reveal the details of our intimacy but there’s no doubt what transpired between us earlier was an act caught somewhere between hunger and control. I’m attuned to Morgan’s needs and I will comply with my duties as her guardian and mate, regardless of her motives, but I’m worried.
“She’s impatient,” Hildi says. “But she hasn’t had centuries to understand that although today is a crisis, it’s just one of many days to come.”
I smile at the Valkyrie. Behind the beauty and brawn, she’s wise.
“She cares for you a great deal, and Andi’s illness is weighing on her. What can we do to help you?”
“I think there may be one thing,” she replies. Her fingers tug at the hem of her shirt. “But it may be asking too much.”
“There’s no such thing. Tell me, and we’ll make it happen.”
*
With Davis’ help, we move Andi from the apartment to The Nead. What Hildi needed was assistance. With the looming battle and hospitals being out of the question, she’s afraid she will be called into service with no one left to take care of her partner.
Davis arrived in a windowless black van, often used by Clinton for his instruments. The unconscious woman is light as a feather and we gently carry her into the back. The neighbors watch, surely wondering if we’re loading up a dead body.
Not yet, but it’s a reasonable conclusion.
Sue waits at The Nead, directing us to a small suite on the main floor. The bed has fresh linens. The shades are drawn. Andi can rest here peacefully and Hildi can have the support she needs while remaining on the front lines of the war.
“Are you sure Morgan will be okay with this? That it won’t just be another reminder of what’s happening?”
I look across the room at the dying woman. Sue is fussing with her blankets. “Trust me, I think she’ll be pleased.”
“Maybe you guys can toss some of that healing energy down here.”
I raise an eyebrow in question.
“Gods, don’t even pretend like the whole place doesn’t shudder when you two go at it. Even I get a little bit of a high.”
“I don’t think the healing powers are transferable.”
She stares at me blankly and it takes a second for it to click that she’s telling a joke.
“Oh, you were kidding. Well, right.” I look down the hall. “I’m surprised she hasn’t come up here yet. She went downstairs to relieve Marcus for a few hours.”
“I’ll go, if you want. I can explain why I’m here but give you all the credit for being kind
and generous with your home,” Hildi says.
“No, stay here.” I frown. “Why would I need credit?”
Hildi leans against the door, her eyes skimming from my head to my toes. “Because you’re made of stone and even though that girl has spent months chipping it away, there’s a long way to go. Doing something like this? Even if it is just to make her feel better, it’s a step in the right direction.”
“What direction?” I ask, still a little confused.
“To becoming a real man.”
Chapter 23
Morgan
I don’t know what to expect when I open my eyes, but this isn’t it. The room is still freezing, but it’s a room, not a cell. I’m propped on a bed made of the softest down, a blood-red canopy overhead.
My throat aches, sore from whatever Casteel had done to me. Magic, I suppose, a level I’d never encountered before. He never hesitated—never even thought about how to use it.
Rubbing the tender flesh around my throat, I sit, taking in the room. It’s opulent, like something out of a gothic fairy tale. Gilded mirrors, velvet fabric. Candles and lanterns cast the room in a shiny glow.
A movement catches my attention and I look to my left, both hands reaching for the blades stuffed in the pockets of my suit.
“I removed all the weapons,” Casteel says from the chair next to the bed. His blond hair glints in the candlelight. Two bandages cover the wounds I’d given him on his neck. I’d suggest we’re even, but from the angry spark in his eye I suspect he doesn’t feel the same.
I swing my legs over the bed. “I don’t need weapons to fight back.”
“I’m aware,” he says. His voice is a slow drawl. Not the harsh tone he’d used in my dream about Bunny. “You’re quite resourceful.”
I stare at the scar under his jaw. “I learned from the best.”
The snarl in response is faint—but there—the beast is just beneath the surface. I have no doubt picking just a little will bring him out. I restrain myself. I’m not ready to fight him. Not yet.
“Why the finery?” I ask, gesturing to the room. “I thought I’d wake in a cell.”
“Contrary to your beliefs, Morgan, you are not an enemy of the Queen. She’s been trying to get you to come here for a very long time. She gave you the key as a child, she sent guides in the form of the cat and prince to guide you through the gates. She opened portals, giving you the chance. And you almost took them—all of them—but your little flock thwarted you every step of the way.”
“You make it sound so peaceful. So easy.”
“Ultimately, she had to get extreme. Take what you cared for the most to get you here.” He smiles, two rows of perfect, white teeth. “It worked.”
“If I’m not the enemy of the Darkness, then what am I?” The question is naïve and I know the answer. I’ve felt her tug for months—if not years. The way it felt to spread the virus to Xavier. The loss I felt after we performed the spell and split from one another.
Casteel doesn’t answer anyway. He just stands and says, “You’re to stay here. There’s a servant here for your needs. Food, clothing, entertainment. She’ll get it for you.”
“And what if I don’t?” I didn’t come here to be a guest of the Morrigan. I came to find my Guardians.
With barely concealed restraint he steps forward and reaches for my chin. I bat his hand away, which raises his ire, and he clamps both of his hands around my wrists. “Dangerous things live in this castle, Morgan. I’m only one of them. Don’t stray from your rooms, do you understand?”
It’s a thinly veiled threat, letting me know exactly how much he would enjoy paying me back for the wounds to his neck. I’m not afraid of him; he’s nothing but an obstacle between me and my mission.
I nod anyway, letting him know I heard him, and watch him walk out the door.
Chapter 24
Bunny
Cloaked in the shadows, I listen to Casteel walk away from Morgan’s room. I heard every word of their conversation—the small threats and the restraint in Morgan’s voice. I, too, had been surprised when they brought her to the living quarters, far away from the dungeons below. Especially after attacking Casteel so viscously.
I stand outside her room for the briefest of moments, feeling the familiar longing—I may have betrayed her, but we are still bonded. There’s only one way to cut the ties with a mate: death.
Casteel’s boots echo off the hallway. I leave Morgan’s door and follow him. I don’t trust him not to turn around and make Morgan pay further for the wounds she inflicted. He’s petty. Brutal, but weak.
He travels down the hall, turning at the corridor that leads back to my studio and the stairway to the dungeons. He passes the soldier at the landing, who calls out, “What happened to your neck?”
Casteel spins, quick and agile. His hand is around the soldier’s throat. He squeaks, unable to breathe. This time it’s not by magic but by sheer power.
“Mind your own fucking business, soldier.”
“Yes, sir,” he replies, gasping for air. I slink further into the wall.
“Get the prisoners ready,” Casteel barks to unknown soldiers below. He vanishes around the corner but his voice echoes back up the stairwell. “I need to blow off a little steam.”
Chapter 25
Dylan
It’s not until I reach the observation room that I realize there’s a problem. The monitors have been shut off. The room is empty. Keys hang from the lock.
My heart kicks into gear along with instincts and adrenaline. The instant I get the door open, I hear a voice.
“Dylan. Down here!”
My racing heart plunges into my gut and I run down the cells. Anita is gone and Marcus has taken her place in the filthy cell. “Where is she? Where’s Morgan?”
“She left, man. Locked me up in here and took off with the crazy chick.”
I look at my friend and try to process what he’s saying. “She’s gone? She did this to you?”
He nods. “Said the girl needed a shower and that you were up there waiting. I didn’t think it was a good idea.” He shakes his head. “I knew something was off.”
Why the hell would Morgan do that? What was she thinking?
“Can you let me out?” Marcus asks. He rattles the bars. I slip the key in the lock and release him. “Thanks.”
“Any idea where she was going?” I ask.
“No, but she took the prisoner with her. I don’t think she lied about the shower, though.” He waves his hand under his nose. “Start there.”
I pat him on the back. “Go upstairs. Get Sue to give you some food. I’ll be back.”
“You need any help?”
“I hope not, but stick around just in case I do.”
*
There’s no sign of Morgan in her room, but her bathroom looks like a bomb went off. I step over a pile of towels, nudging the clothes Anita wore in the cell. It couldn’t have been that long ago; the room still feels humid and the towels are damp. I exit the room, wondering where she could have gone.
Her bed looks in order but that doesn’t quell the unease in my chest. I sit on the edge of the bed and close my eyes, hoping to catch her final scent, but the room is filled with too much her and a lot of someone else. Apples and fruit dominate the air—shampoo—Anita most likely. There’s zero proof that they left the house. They aren’t in the dungeons, kitchen, or first floor.
I decide to start at the top, in the last place I saw Bunny slip from one world to the next. His studio.
Chapter 26
Morgan
Under the watchful eye of my silent servant--who I suspect is no more than a slave in the eyes of the Morrigan--I check the room for something, anything that could be used as a weapon. Casteel did his job thoroughly and there is nothing useful I can pry, break, or twist for my own purposes. The room is a sham. Staged decorations to make me feel like a guest. It’s just a different kind of cell.
I sit on the blood-red velvet chair and try
to settle my emotions. Even if my entrance into this world was a bit rocky, I’m here, just like I wanted. Casteel poses a problem and I have no idea what to do about Bunny. Seeing him cut me to the bone…I didn’t expect it. I was so focused on getting to the Morrigan and back to my guardians, I hadn’t considered what seeing Bunny again would do to me.
I wrap my arms around my waist and feel the heartache and pain. Something I’d pushed aside, fueled by rage and anger. But seeing his face, his eyes, and his stupid hair…something cracked inside.
Better than ever, I understand the Morrigan’s rage after Cu left her on the riverbank. I understand her raw pain. The bitter acceptance and the unrelenting wrath she fed on for an eternity.
But I’m not the Morrigan. Not fully, and I have four other guardians that need me. They need my love. And my compassion. They do not need me going off on a destructive bender. That won’t help any of us.
I lean back in the chair, pulling a blanket over my knees. Part of me, the vengeful, angry part, wants to gut him and let him bleed out for what he did to me and our imperfect family. But another part, I don’t know if it’s my heart or my brain, tells me something else—that Bunny is a key player in all of this—and if I kill him it could hurt us even more.
*
“What’s your name?” I ask the girl holding a bucket over my head. Her expression is blank as she dumps hot water over me and I jerk up in the bathtub, howling.
“I’m sorry. Too hot. I’m sorry. Let me get something colder.”
“No.” I reach for her arm and she flinches. I release her. “No, I like it hot. This place is too freaking cold. It just surprised me.”
The worry lines smooth by her eyes and she lowers the metal bucket to the floor. She lathers soap in her hands and begins working it through my hair. The smell of lavender is strong and I settle back against the tub, beneath the suds.