Carnage: Nate Temple Series Book 14

by Shayne Silvers

  I sucked in some of the power and shuddered in relief as Apollo and Ares began to shout at each other. I tried throwing my magic at them, but nothing happened. I could feel it trickling into me, but I couldn’t do anything with it.

  Realizing this, my jailers calmed down, laughing uneasily and demanding answers from Peter in harsh, dangerous tones. Kára was staring at me with a hopeful look but I shook my head.

  Why had they broken? I’d been thinking about my Horsemen destroying the pantheons, not love. I hadn’t even said any of that out loud, which Aphrodite had said was necessary.

  I hadn’t said any names—

  I froze.

  Othello. I’d said her name. I’d said I loved Othello.

  Even as I thought it, I knew it was the truth. But the cuffs had only cracked.

  “I love Othello,” I whispered, putting my heart into it, wondering if it hadn’t worked because I’d used the past tense with Peter.

  Kára cocked her head, looking confused. “What are you doing?” she whispered while the others were grilling Peter for answers. “Did it work?”

  I shook my head miserably, wondering why it had only partially worked. Knowing this truth only made my situation suckier, because I kept imagining the romance I’d seen between her and Death. That was the cruel part—the whole unconditional part of unconditional love. Even knowing she was happy with Death, I still knew I loved her.

  It didn’t matter if they reciprocated. That was called a condition.

  Love sucked sometimes.

  Part of me felt dead inside.

  Apollo stepped up to me, cutting off my view of Kára. He scowled down at me. “We don’t have time to play any more games. Father wants us on the mountain soon.”

  Ares snarled angrily. “Who gives a fuck what the old man wants?”

  I blinked, surprised. Was there a fracture in the family business? Even bigger than I had previously thought? Peter looked just as startled, likely realizing that he was now the middle manager in the untenable position of standing between his boss and his boss’ petulant children.

  Ah, Corporate America. How I love thee.

  Apollo got right up in Ares’ face. “If we aren’t there in time, all this would have been for nothing, and our chance will be lost. The Titan Thorns fucking cracked, you moron. What happens if they break all the way?”

  Ares grunted. “We need to get Pandora’s Box!” he argued. “Otherwise, this will be a waste.”

  I glanced over at them, their argument percolating in my mind. It was time to figuratively streak through the middle of the family picnic, scarring generations of Olympians for good.

  “I gave it to your sister, you idiots. Why do you think I fucked with your head so hard? I needed you out of the picture. Aphrodite promised to break me out of my cell if I got her the box. It’s hard to say no to a woman who can do the things she can.” I shrugged shamelessly. “Plus, it earns me a seat at the table when she overthrows your father.”

  The two brothers stared at me, looking terrified and furious all at the same time.

  “That’s impossible!” Ares roared, stomping my way. “Our plan was—”

  Apollo clasped a hand around Ares mouth, jerking him to a halt as he shot me a frantic look. Then he shook his head at Ares. So, there really was a coup in process. Hera’s crazy ass mind games against Zeus had been true. Huh. Vindictive spinster for the win.

  “You can hate me all you want,” I said, splitting my gaze between them, “but it looks like we might just be on the same side. Your dad wants to use me, and I’m not a fan of that. Your sister roped you into helping her overthrow your father. I’m guessing she’s the brains of the operation, which makes sense, since she recruited me as well.”

  The words made my own heart ice over. She’d been helping me. I’d genuinely believed her about the Titan Thorns and the inner workings of my own heart. I understood her desire to boot Zeus from his perch, but how could she work with these two ass clowns? Her theory on the manacles hadn’t exactly panned out either. Had she played me?

  Regardless, I was going to capitalize the shit out of the situation. I managed to worm my fingers into my pocket without them noticing—they were too absorbed in a hushed argument. I masked my surprise at finding my pocket was not empty.

  The gods turned back to me. “She did break him out,” Ares said, thinking out loud.

  Apollo shook his head adamantly. “She would have told us.”

  “Well, we don’t have fucking time for a crossword puzzle,” Ares snapped. “We need to make a decision now before one is made for us. Either way, we need to be on that mountain.”

  I nodded. “Tick. Tock.”

  “You are not going to let Temple side with you,” Peter warned, his fists crackling with energy. “He is mine. He will not win this time. Not again!”

  I glanced at Peter, frowning compassionately. “Oh, Peter. You know they’re just using you, right? Like Alaric tried to do.” His face darkened, but he didn’t interrupt me. “You’re not part of the family. Even with that bracelet, you’re just a wizard. They are gods,” I said gently, so he didn’t think I was being cruel.

  For the second time in my life, I sanctioned Peter’s death with a handful of words, not even having to lift a finger.

  “I’ll get you something better than your bracelet if you get me out of here in ten seconds. We’ll never have to see each other again. Just get me out of here.”

  Chaos ensued as Ares and Apollo stormed forward—heading straight for me.

  No doubt to take me to the mountain before Peter did something stupid.

  I might not have needed to lift a finger to sentence Peter to death, but I was willing to do it for two angry gods. I awkwardly extracted my fingers from my pocket and threw a Tiny Ball in front of Ares and Apollo.

  A Gateway roared to life between us and they crashed through it, unable to halt their momentum. I heard screams and roars and explosions through the Gateway, followed by dark, wicked, malevolent laughter.

  It was like a chocolate fondue fountain for my ears.

  The Gateway winked shut to reveal Peter on the other side of where the Gateway had appeared. His face was haunted at whatever he had seen. “What did you just do?” he whispered.

  “What happens in Niflheim stays in Niflheim,” I said with a bright grin. Because I’d pocketed a Niflheim Tiny Ball, thinking I would need it to confront my Horsemen.

  From the sounds of it, Fenrir and Loki had set up camp again.

  And Nate Temple had been their UberEats driver, giving them Ares and Apollo.

  I stared at Peter. “Now, where were we…”

  59

  Peter stared at me for a few long moments. “That won’t go over well. They’ll return shortly, and you’ll wish you hadn’t done that.”

  I scoffed. “Oh, they won’t be returning as the same men,” I laughed bitterly. “I meant what I said. You’re more screwed than I am—whether they return or not. I’ll get you enough power to protect yourself and run. We don’t have to be friends, but I can save your life. This time.”

  Peter studied me warily, and then calmly walked over to Kára. “You know, it’s funny,” he said, picking up a long, thin knife. “You didn’t start talking until they began hurting the girl.”

  I snarled, railing against my chains as he slowly sliced his knife across her exposed abdomen. She groaned, gritting her teeth. I railed against my chains harder, hoping to snap the manacles loose by deepening the crack. Other than that, I was useless. Even though I could feel magic trickling into me, I could do nothing with it.

  And that was so much worse—my mind screaming at me to do a dozen different spells, not understanding why it wasn’t working when I was holding the tools of our salvation.

  “Do you have anything to say, sweetheart?” Peter cooed, brushing a lock of hair from her face and wiping off a bead of sweat with his thumb. “You’ll be too busy moaning to form a proper sentence here in a few minutes,” he promised, and then he
dragged the blade down her cheek. She screamed, suddenly babbling in a foreign language.

  I was too busy struggling against my chains to bother listening. I had to find a way out!

  Peter leaned close, tapping a finger against her breastplate. “How about we peel this off and see how tough a Valkyrie is without her armor? All those lovely tender bits beneath the candy shell.” But it had been a misdirect, because he abruptly snapped one of her fingers with a startlingly loud pop, laughing over her screams.

  I raged, panting and straining, my manacles cutting into my wrists as I tried to physically force the crack deeper. Peter was unbuckling her armor, but he paused to frown at her chest. “It’s a shame you had to scratch this stupid emblem on there. Would have been worth more when I sold it later. Who draws a fucking pile of blocks on such elegant armor?”

  “Lighthouse,” I snarled angrily. “It’s a fucking lighthouse.” He ignored me.

  I struggled and fought as I heard him finish unclipping her armor. I hadn’t realized that it was physically attached since I’d seen her make it vanish and reappear with a thought. Maybe it had to be physically strapped on before she could do any of that. Peter wasn’t all that bright, because he’d forgotten she was chained down to the table.

  She began laughing at him. “You fucking moron. Forgot about the massive chains in your way?” she taunted. “Sitting here and spilling my blood only guarantees your own death when the Olympians return. They said Hermes was outside. You can bet your ass he won’t believe we sent them away,” she grinned, eyeing Peter’s bracelet. “I wonder who Hermes will blame…”

  Peter paused, looming over her. “Maybe Zeus is aware of their games and gave me my own set of marching orders,” he said without a flicker of concern. “Orders that supersede theirs.”

  I stared in horror. Shit. That…was not good.

  Kára spat in his face and he backhanded her with his fist, snapping her head to the side. He lifted his knuckles to find a splash of her blood. He frowned, and then wiped it off on the front of her armor.

  “And you seem to have forgotten that I’m a wizard,” he muttered. He lifted his palm and Kára instantly flattened to the table as if glued to it. Peter began to whistle as he bent down to insert a key into a lock I hadn’t seen. The chains came loose and Peter calmly hefted off her armor, whistling while he worked. He dropped the chest piece to the ground with a metallic clang, and then began reassembling the chains, all while Kára struggled to breathe, as she was pressed so tightly against the table.

  I stared down at the discarded armor, at her own blood painting the crude lighthouse. It was hopeless. I couldn’t get out of my restraints and I couldn’t tap into my magic.

  Kára screamed at him in a violent string of guttural words I did not recognize as he finished resetting her restraints. Then he cut her again, forcing her to choose between her cursing and screaming. He paused long enough for her to catch her breath in a ragged pant. “You always were a scared little man, Peter,” she snarled. “Nothing but a terrified little Sooka.”

  I frowned, something about her statement catching my attention, although I couldn’t place it.

  Peter was silent, but I couldn’t peel my eyes away from the blood lazily filling in the lines of the lighthouse. “Well, whatever you just said, I heard you say my name, so I’m betting it wasn’t nice. What language was that? German?” Peter asked absently.

  Kára suddenly went quiet.

  That was what had caught my attention. She had spoken a different language again. The last word had been familiar. Sooka. And she’d rolled her R’s perfectly…

  “Russian,” I whispered, frowning to myself as I stared at the bloody lighthouse. Because I’d translated her words in my mind. Kára…had known Peter?

  “What was that, dear?” Peter asked, glancing back at me. “Did you have something to say?”

  “She was speaking Russian,” I murmured, “and she called you a sooka. A bitch.”

  I heard another finger bone snap and Kára screamed. “Is that true, Valkyrie? Did you call me a bitch?” he snarled, snapping another finger. “You have six more fingers. How about we stick with your theme and play a little Russian roulette?”

  I flinched at his threat, but not just in fear. Something else…a casino? Roulette? Kára had clamped her lips shut, refusing to talk and give him the satisfaction of a response.

  “I’m not going to shoot you, but I am thinking of a number between one and six. Guess right and I’ll let you choose which finger I break next,” he said, laughing at his own ingenuity.

  My heart was racing, and I couldn’t stop staring at the lighthouse. “A lighthouse,” I mumbled, forcing my sluggish brain to action. The scrolls in the Armory! Pandora had said they were from Alexandria. A hint to a riddle. But what riddle?

  “Oh, great,” Peter muttered. “He’s delirious, Kára. You’re being too quiet for him and he’s falling asleep. Let’s try the big knife. See if that will wake him up.” I jolted, looking up right as he stabbed her in the side with a wider blade. I snarled as he twisted it, panting heavily. Kára grunted, her eyes bulging. But she did not scream. Instead, her head lolled to the side and she stared at me, a tear falling from her blue eye and spilling down her cheek.

  Peter left the blade in her side and placed his hands on his lower back, stretching. “This is hard work. I need a drink.” In my peripheral vision, I watched as Peter strolled over to a table against the wall and twisted the top off a bottle of water.

  I couldn’t peel my eyes away from Kára. An apology resided deep within her dual-colored eyes. An unnecessary one.

  “Kára,” I whispered, blinking through my own misty eyes as pieces of a puzzle began clicking into place—even though they formed a maddening picture that made little sense. “You rolled your R’s,” I whispered.

  She stared back at me with a suddenly panicked look on her face.

  “That’s the Alexandrian lighthouse on your armor,” I whispered. “Pharos.”

  More pieces clicked into place, expanding the picture to make more sense—in an impossible way. I recalled hearing Othello and Death’s conversation from earlier. How frustrated Othello had been about her failure to locate me.

  My eyes widened. “She’s not the best hacker in the world,” I breathed. “You are.”

  Peter shouted something at us but it was just white noise.

  More tears spilled from Kára’s eyes and her lips quivered, not acknowledging Peter’s frantic shouting either.

  “You…” I whispered, blinking through tears. “You are Othello…” I breathed.

  Peter was suddenly back, and he stabbed her in the arm, shouting angrily. Kára didn’t flinch from the blow or break eye contact with me, and I knew that my words had hurt her far worse than Peter’s blade.

  “And I love you,” I whispered, “Othello, Kára…what’s in a name, anyway?”

  She closed her eyes, her composure shattering before my eyes, her mental armor destroyed. “I love you too, Pharos,” she sobbed. Something she’d never said to me before.

  And…it lit a fucking fire in my soul. The impotent magic swirling within me screamed and roared like an oncoming tornado, destroying everything in its wake, scraping my insides raw, and obliterating the mental tower I’d built to hide my heart’s greatest desire from myself—like Aphrodite had told me.

  I had known it all along. Othello had always been in my heart. That fire had just gone to ground, waiting. Because it had been born in silence.

  Peter raised his blade high overhead. “That’s it. I’m sick and tired of you two ignoring me.”

  The blade came down, but Othello didn’t react, refusing to break eye contact with me.

  A sharp cracking sound echoed in the storage room like a gunshot, and Peter suddenly cried out as something struck his hands, snapping bones and sending his knife flying.

  The Titan Thorns, now nothing more than broken hunks of metal, dropped to the concrete floor. They’d broken the moment I’d voiced
my love.

  Peter fell to the ground with a scream, clutching a bloody stump. “You son of a bitch! You cut off my goddamned hand!” he shrieked.

  I sat up from my table, ripping off the chains with my bare hands. Molten hot metal hissed and screamed as it flew across the room in a shower of sparks.

  I stumbled over to Kára, and her chains exploded, zipping past me without harm—but peppering Peter, judging by his screams. I scooped her up in my arms and blinked through tears as I stared down at her. I felt like sand beneath a wave, the topical and inane parts of my soul washing out to sea, leaving only the firmest, oldest sand and bedrock behind. The foundation.

  She was badly wounded. Maybe fatally.

  “Othello,” I breathed, unable to make sense of it all. She still looked like my Valkyrie, Kára. Ever since Othello had died, she’d been in a romantic relationship with Death. But I was now certain that the woman I’d seen with Death at Chateau Falco had been a double. She’d claimed not to be the world’s best hacker.

  Othello would never say that.

  And she hadn’t known Peter, but Kára had. The double had needed to use a memory shard to recall who Peter was. And then Death had interrupted Kára’s conversation with Freya outside Yggdrasil when I’d been astral spying. He had not wanted the goddess—or me—to hear something.

  “Pharos,” Kára breathed through a faint bloody smile. A single drop of blood fell from her finger as I crouched down to collect her chest piece. The ruby drop splashed over the lighthouse, filling in the rest of the crude lines.

  Kára had…etched my name—Pharos—into her armor.

  A permanent reminder, right over her heart, of what mattered right now. The worlds could wait for later, but Pharos had mattered right now. She’d been willing to turn in her trident and wings to see me safe. To possibly give up her soul.

  Her eyes fluttered closed as I gently pressed my lips to her forehead and ripped open a Gateway of fiery sparks behind me. I could feel her pulse, but only barely. Rather than use my hands to collect her armor, I remembered I could now use my magic. I scooped it up on a tendril of air, letting it float at my side. Spotting my satchel on the table, I picked that up, too.