The front door opened. The Messenger strode inside, whip in hand, a low hum rolling from her throat. Her Mahati warrior followed and strode across the living room to Lord Ha’an without a second glance at the rest of us. He fell down on one knee, examining the other demon’s wounds, then flashed the Messenger a hard look.
“Why would I?” she answered his unspoken question. “He is the enemy.”
The Mahati bared his teeth at her. I flicked my hand at the Messenger. “Can you heal Ha’an and Oanu?”
“They are healing on their own,” she replied coldly, and glanced at Grant. “You can confirm this. Watch the threads of their light.”
“I see it,” Grant said. “They’re receiving energy from elsewhere. The bond with their people, perhaps. That must be why they’re sleeping. They’re letting their bodies recover.”
“Is that what Zee is doing?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know. It seems different with him.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek and strode across the floor to Ha’an. The Mahati warrior stood as I approached, as though ready to defend the demon lord. I held up my hands in a conciliatory gesture, and his low, rumbling growl faded—slowly.
Jack appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, holding the crystal skull.
“They were awake when they arrived,” he said in a strangely quiet voice. “I didn’t realize that their bodies would require such a deep sleep in order to recover. Seeing them wounded . . . shocked me.”
Something about the way he stood there made me uneasy. I stepped between him and the couch, glancing down at the skull—those glinting holes for eyes, so many rows of sharp teeth. I thought about large, silver hands fashioning the crystal in a workshop filled with roses—and for a moment, could see it so clearly in my head, I wavered.
“Old Wolf,” I said, mouth suddenly dry. “All those years ago, did you ever think to destroy the clans in order to get to the demon lords?”
“We tried,” he said. Grant eyed him, limping to the middle of the living room where the Messenger stood, fingering her iron collar and watching Jack. “We stitched together nightmare beasts to hunt the demons. But they were strong, then, and well fed. Their numbers were vast, dear girl. In the millions.”
Jack’s hands tightened around the skull. “It seems only a fraction of those numbers survived. I never imagined I would say this, but the demon lords are weak now. They can be killed.”
I walked to him. “No, Jack. Not these two.”
My grandfather, who had always seemed like an elegant, gentle man, stared at me with impossible indifference and grim resolve. “Don’t be sentimental. Don’t be lulled into thinking you have a connection, an alliance, with any of the demon lords. If you let them recover, and survive, you will have to fight them. That, or let their people kill. Can you do that? Can you live with yourself?”
“Jack.”
“Think of your daughter.”
I placed my hand on top of the skull. “I have seen the children of the Mahati. If you kill Ha’an, you will kill those children.”
“They’re demons,” he whispered, though I saw the pain in his eyes.
“Jack,” I said gently. “We’re all demons, in our own way. We’re all human.”
Jack retreated, and I followed him, one hand still on the skull.
“We’re going to do a lot of killing,” I said, incredibly saddened by that certainty—as well as the old conflict and pain in my grandfather’s eyes. “Demon lords will die, but not these two.”
His gaze flicked past me. “You’ve never seen their armies kill, my dear. You’ve never heard the screams from the slave pits, and smelled the cook fires upon which humans roast.”
Doubt crept. He was right. What was I doing? I had seen the Mahati eating human flesh. Now, they—and the other clans—were hunting on this world. Whose side was I on?
Jack tried to step around me. I blocked him. I moved without thinking, and that decided it for me. My instincts said no. My heart said no. Despite the risk, and danger—no matter what I had been taught about keeping this world safe—everything in me resisted these murders. Even the attempt.
There had to be another way. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try. And if I was wrong . . . I would never forgive myself.
I glanced back at Ha’an and Oanu but found myself meeting Grant’s gaze instead. I wasn’t certain what I saw in his eyes, and it frightened me. I could fight Jack, but if my husband decided to kill the two demon lords . . .
Inside my chest, a heartbeat flared.
Zee.
Confusion trickled through the bond. I held on to that feeling, searching for the other boys—but their presence continued to be muted, dull. Having their hearts in mine had been disconcerting, but not feeling anything—all over again—was worse.
I turned, just in time to see Zee fall from the shadows behind a chair. His bandages were still in place, but his limbs flopped in all the wrong directions as he attempted to sit up. I crossed the living room, falling down on my knees beside him.
His eyes opened. Nothing but red slits, corners crusty with dried fluid. I held my breath as we stared at each other, listening to—feeling—his heart reassert itself.
“Maxine,” he whispered, and our bond sparked with surprise—resignation—and then despair.
“Babe,” I said in a soft voice.
He brushed his claws against his bandaged throat. “Lost strength. Power . . . refused our call. Should not have been.”
Zee struggled to sit up. It was painful watching him. Strained, labored, without his usual deadly grace. Shame filtered through our bond, along with resentment and fear. We met each other’s gazes, and he stilled.
“My heart,” he rasped. “My heart in yours.”
I said nothing. Zee continued holding my gaze, red eyes glinting too bright.
“Thought answers were in blood,” he whispered. “Thought . . . together stronger than apart. Wanted to protect you.”
“You wanted power,” Grant said, with a hard edge in his voice. “So you took it.”
Zee gave him a long look. I touched his face, forcing him to look at me. “We’re going to get the others. You need to stay here and rest.”
“No,” he rasped, and his heart pounded harder, with fear and remorse. I closed my eyes, searching for that hard, coiled presence resting deep inside.
Help him, I said. Help them all. Give them the strength they need.
No response. Not even a tickle. Which meant all the strength they needed, the only thing that was going to power us through this day, was me. Me, alone.
Grant placed his hand on my shoulder. “I know what to do now.”
I didn’t ask questions. I dragged Zee in my lap. No protests, no struggle. He flowed against me, a tangle of sharp, bandaged limbs.
“Little king,” I whispered, and he sighed.
I closed my eyes as Grant pulled a tin whistle from his back pocket and began playing a twisting, riddling melody that lilted and tugged, swelling with long, sweet notes that flowed through me, sinking warmth into my bones. Light filled my heart, a light that fell on those other five hearts, all of which twitched and pulsed and throbbed beneath that heat.
His music twisted and made power. Power that flowed through me, into my bond with the boys. Zee trembled in my arms, releasing his breath with a hiss. His skin rippled beneath my hands.
I opened my eyes, watching him rip off his bandages. The ragged edges of his flesh began knitting together. Heartbeats gathered strength. An awakening burst from them, a noise of confusion and fear—but also relief. Even the darkness came awake, basking in that light, whispering to itself with pleasure.
And deep in my belly, deep as anything, I felt a spark.
The tin whistle faltered. Grant stopped playing.
“I felt that,” he said, with a wonderment that made me smile.
Zee tumbled out of my lap, tearing away the rest of the gauze. The wound in his neck was mostly gone, as was the gash in
his side. The cuts over the rest of his body had completely faded. A little shudder raced through him, and he tilted up his head, staring into my eyes.
“Don’t even think about telling me not to come with you,” I said. “And don’t force me, Zee. Don’t.”
His little shoulders sagged. “Trying to keep you safe.”
“It didn’t work,” Grant said, slipping the tin whistle into his back pocket. “You need help.”
Zee looked past us at Ha’an and Oanu, who continued to sleep—and then his gaze skipped to Jack, who watched us with the crystal skull still in his hands. They stared at each other.
“Meddling Man,” whispered the little demon. “Circle comes around.”
“It always does,” replied my grandfather with particular weariness. “I was so afraid you would destroy us all if you ever went free.”
“Might happen.” Zee tilted his head, looking up at Grant and me. “Or maybe our circle done. Maybe our hunt, done. Power shifts, Meddling Man. Power changes.”
“That was what frightened us the most, even more than you.” Jack looked at me. “The unknown. The untested. You never know what power will do to the heart. Whether it will grow stronger, brighter . . . or burn out.”
“I’m burning,” I said to him. “I’m burning to get the hell out of here and find the boys.”
But even as the words left my mouth, I heard a booming sound outside the farmhouse and an immense hiss that traveled through the walls like a rising storm. The sound grew so loud, the window rattled, and the floor began shaking.
I ran to the window. It was dark out, pitch-black; but the thumping, the hisses, was accompanied by shrieking wails that made my teeth hurt.
“I know those sounds,” Jack whispered.
“Shurik and Yorana,” Zee rasped, flexing his claws. “They come.”
CHAPTER 26
I stepped onto the porch—left hand on my hip, right hand hanging loose and ready. It was difficult to think past the hisses and shrieks, and the rumble of movement that churned through my chest in a thick vibration. My first instinct was to run, but my heels dug in, and my right hand shimmered with light.
The armor transformed. A sword filled my hand, familiar and light as air. Runes covered the hilt and blade, coiled lines and knots that resembled roses.
“Can’t see who’s coming,” I muttered, as everyone followed me to the porch.
“I can,” Grant said in a tight voice. “Looks like they plan on overwhelming us with sheer numbers.”
“How bad?”
“Earlier, in the desert, was a drop in the bucket.”
“They want to kill us,” Jack murmured. “They know we’re a threat to them. The only threat on this world, perhaps . . . and all of us are here, gathered in one spot like a prize.”
“Draean and K’ra’an cannot resist,” Blood Mama said. “If they kill Zee, an Aetar, a Lightbringer . . . and the precious Vessel . . .”
“I get it,” I snapped. “Why haven’t they done away with the boys?”
“Will want you to watch,” Zee muttered. “Our Queen.”
I glanced down at the demon. “Are the others in that mess?”
“Yes,” he rasped, and I grabbed his shoulder, looking back at the Messenger. “If it becomes too much, take them out of here.” I looked at Grant. “Sever those bonds if you can. Make them yours. I’ll be back with help.”
“Maxine,” he said, but I was already gone.
I seemed to drift far longer than usual within the void, but this time the emptiness did not seem so vast—or empty. I did not feel alone.
You will need us, whispered the darkness, rising through me, stretching my skin with power, igniting my bond with Grant. You will need us for this hunt.
I did not answer. But I didn’t fight it, either.
I fell into the field below the hill where my mother was buried. I could see the farmhouse, glittering like a jewel in the night, but from here to there—the ground rippled and shook with the endless forced march of thousands and thousands of small bodies—the Shurik, wiggling and undulating across the ground. Amongst them, taller demons, elegant and graceful, carrying swords across their backs and giant spears.
Marching, marching, toward my mother’s home.
It looked so small and vulnerable, a tiny light under the clear night sky, heavy with stars. One moment, one heartbeat, one tiny me—lost, lost in what was going to be another battle, another sacrifice—of blood and life, all of which seemed to be never-ending. If I lived through this, another fight would come. If I lived through that, there would be another battle.
Right then, more than anything—that little house represented peace. Peace and safety.
And it hurt to see. It hurt, because it made me afraid I would never have peace. That my daughter would never know that life, or even the promise of it. That I would be fighting until she was born, fighting afterward, teaching her that the only way to live was one hard kill after another.
I glanced at my mother’s grave and saw the silhouette of the oak tree against the night sky. I saw the gentle waving of its branches and leaves, and at its base, clumps of bushes heavy with gooseberries, which my mother loved to eat because they were sour. In my heart, I felt such regret, for everything.
A cry went up. I turned in a slow circle, keeping that farmhouse beacon alive at the corner of my eye. Everything I loved was down there. Everything I was going to love—inside me, now.
I’m tired of this, I told the darkness. It’s always the same. I don’t want to fight or kill.
You must hunt, it whispered. You must hunt to live.
I’ll hunt peace.
Peace comes after death, and death is a long song you are not ready to sing. But when you are ready, it added, you will not sing it alone.
I felt a snap inside my soul, and power poured through me. More power than my mind could comprehend. I felt as though I were hemorrhaging a nuclear bomb, or the core of a star, shooting off sparks into my blood.
And it all poured into my bond with the boys.
Zee shuddered, crying out. Somewhere close I heard other cries, familiar in their rage, echoing the rage inside my heart. I started running, Zee loping in front of me, growing sleeker and bigger, slashing his claws over the Shurik who tried to leap at us. I could barely think past the tsunami raging through me, and if that power had not been channeled through the bond into the boys, I was certain I would have split apart into a million little pieces.
My vision blurred. My running feet hardly seemed to touch the ground. I moved with more grace than the wind, and each scent, each sound was electric and wild. Thunder raged through my chest, thunder and fury, and I began to lose myself to those emotions, swinging the sword as though it were an extension of my arm—biting into flesh, bone, releasing blood and death. I did not see who I killed. I tried not to care.
I kept that farmhouse beacon at the corner of my eye.
“Zee!” I shouted. “The others!”
Even as I spoke his name, I saw the boys inside my mind, in my heart: wrapped in massive chains and borne down by iron hooks that pierced their bodies to anchor them to stone. Raw’s chest had been impaled, while a thick iron spear, serrated with barbs, penetrated Aaz’s entire jaw. Hundreds of needle-thin spikes pierced Dek’s and Mal’s long bodies.
But they were awake. Fighting. Hearts pounding inside mine.
We are together, I called to them, through our bond. Boys.
Resolve washed down the link—five points of light burning within the darkness. Five stars, smoldering around the star blazing inside my own heart, our light merging into shadow, into power, into fury.
My vision flickered. Darts around me, streaks of flesh and screams. Air moved against my body. I glimpsed Shurik throwing themselves at me—turning to ash before they could touch my body. Chaos, everywhere. No organization. Just lives thrown away.
Raw fell from the shadows, snarling. Aaz was close behind him. Covered in blood. Immediately set upon by a group o
f Yorana bearing whips that they rained down with screams. Raw and Aaz charged into demons. Dek and Mal writhed into sight as they skipped through shadows, so quickly it was as though they were flying—in and out—and each time they emerged, it was to rip open another throat.
I didn’t care about the blood, or death. My boys . . . my boys were alive, and here.
Their hearts were frenzied, hammering with wild hunger and abandon. They killed, and each kill excited them even more, working them into a heaving, deadly mob of muscle and darkness, and death. I felt them. I was there, with them, as they killed, swept up in the same bloodthirsty excitement. I stopped fighting. Stopped moving. Eyes closed, my entire being lost in the brutal lust for the kill.
It was euphoric. It was terrible. I was possessed, and I didn’t know if I cared because the emotions and power pouring through me were bigger than I, an avalanche sweeping my soul into a little hole where a small part of me wailed in horror, while the rest was overcome by five hearts not my own.
My vision split. I saw in my mind a sea of bodies, pushing and pulling. Each demon aching to retreat, but unable to because of those bonds—those bonds to Draean and K’ra’an, who threw their people at the boys . . . and farther away, the farmhouse.
The farmhouse. My beacon. I had to protect it.
I focused on the demon lords and fell into the void.
Moments later, I stood on a distant hill, behind two tall figures. I was not myself—but maybe I was, maybe—and I swung my sword without warning or hesitation, cutting into K’ra’an’s side.
I could have sliced him completely in half, but something stayed my hand. Me. Part of me still with mercy.
He cried out in shock, twisting to face me, clutching at the sword in his side. He made another sound of pain—smoke rising from his palms where he touched the gleaming metal. The fury and disbelief in his eyes faded into horror as he looked deep into my face.
“Already dead,” I whispered. “Or not. Depends on you.”
“You will kill all my people,” he said in a trembling voice, as purple sweat oozed down the red skin of his face. “For what? There are many humans to spare.”
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