Bright Wicked 2: Radiant Fierce (A Twilight Fae Fantasy Romance)

by Everly Frost

  Cyrian scoffs, folding his arms across his chest, returning the dragon’s glare with a hard stare. “Be gone, dragon. We have a fight to start.”

  Sadness fills the dragon’s eyes as he swings to me again. “I will see you again, Aura. Whoever wins this fight between Nathaniel and Hagan will meet you in battle on the third day. I pray the outcome doesn’t break your heart.”

  I can’t stop the shiver that racks me. This morning, Mathilda warned me that my heart will be torn apart before the beginning of the third day, but I refuse to believe it might be because of this fight.

  The dragon backs away from us before he sweeps his wings and rises into the sky, the wind from his wing beats knocking us all off-balance. I lower my center of gravity to stay upright as Treble nudges my back, resting his face against my cheek before he, too, lifts into the air.

  My heart aches as I watch him disappear into the haze. I’m glad he’s safe—that the Vanem Dragon is looking after him—but it’s like watching my oldest friend leave me behind.

  Cyrian is already striding toward us, his cruel eyes glittering. “Time to throw you in the Ditch.”

  Chapter 27

  Now that the dragon’s gone, the hunter’s savagery returns. Snake grabs me around the back of my neck to propel me along the path while the other hunters crowd Nathaniel, shoving him after me.

  Hagan steps in Cyrian’s path before we’ve gone more than a few paces. “You will honor our agreement.”

  Cyrian snarls before he casts an angry glance at the sky. Judging by the absence of light, we’re now approaching midnight. Dawn is only a few hours away. He will be anxious about timing now.

  After an angry pause, Cyrian snaps. “Christiana’s yours. Now let’s go—”

  Hagan spins away from him, striding toward Christiana, whose eyes fly wide. “Wait… now? Like hell I’ll let you touch me, you filthy hunter.”

  Her fist flies out, whacking Hagan neatly on the chin, but he catches her hand before she can thump him again, scooping her up against his chest, one arm around her waist, the other gripping her hand.

  Nathaniel wrenches free from the hunters, his own fists clenched as he paces like a caged animal. He can’t stop any of it. Neither can I.

  Christiana attempts to kick Hagan’s shins despite her tight skirt, but he only winces before he spins her away from himself and pulls her back in again.

  She freezes up against this chest, her eyes even wider. “What are you doing?”

  Hagan is extraordinarily calm, but the ticking muscle in his jaw indicates he’s deadly serious. “Marrying you properly.”

  A storm grows on her face, anger washing through the set of her lips, sharpening the glare in her eyes. “I don’t think so, you ugly, great—”

  She wrenches against his hold, trying to free her hand, but he resolutely grips her wrist, never letting it go as he continues with the dance. I can see now, watching from the outside, how beautiful the dance could look—how close he holds her and how often she could choose to step away from him, returning to him instead—but not in this case.

  Every time Hagan spins and pulls Christiana back to him, her dress sparkles, catching the firelight in a dangerous flicker before she wallops him—a fist to his face, his chest, his stomach—so hard that she flexes her fingers and shouts against the pain that must be shooting up her arm every time. “I will not marry you!”

  I wait for her to grab one of the daggers at his belt, and I’m surprised when she doesn’t. Then I realize that she can’t. Hagan is destined to fight Nathaniel and nobody can stop that from happening. Christiana can’t kill or wound Hagan even if she wants to. Even her fists must be landing without impact right now.

  Cyrian startles me when he whispers at my shoulder. “If I’d known how entertaining this would be, I would have given my permission a long time ago.”

  A retort rests on the tip of my tongue, but I edge away from the King, wary of his proximity and deciding now is not the time to draw a violent response from him.

  Hagan drops Christiana into the final move—the sultry bend—and then the dance is over. She’s tried every physical assault she could to free herself.

  Now he has to draw his name on her face.

  Still gripping her with one hand, his muscles bulging as she fights him and pulls with all her strength, he eases one of his daggers free, awkwardly sliding it tip-up one-handed before he pricks his forefinger on it.

  The dagger clatters to the dusty road as he pulls Christiana off her feet, hard up against his chest. She plants both her palms against his shoulders, turning her face away.

  It’s over in five strokes.

  On her left cheek, he draws a single line of blood down the middle with two branches on each side at the top like a ‘Y’ with two extra spokes.

  Her chest heaves when he finishes his task. “You will never own me, Hagan—”

  “You will do what I say now.” Hagan growls, his tawny eyes raking over her face and the mark he drew on her. “Do you understand?”

  “I will not!”

  He grits his teeth. “You are my wife and you will obey me.”

  “Fuck you!” She shoves against his chest, but this time, he lets her go so abruptly that she stumbles. She flails and tries to regain her balance, stumbling back a few steps before she right herself and stares up at him in surprise.

  She lurches back when he takes a threatening step toward her.

  “You will go now,” he says.

  A confused crease forms on her forehead.

  She teeters on the spot, taking glances at Cyrian and then Nathaniel before she returns her focus to Hagan.

  Near to me, Cyrian tenses, an unhappy snarl on his lips. Nathaniel is also on alert, the flash of his dark eyes telling me he’s as shocked as Christiana.

  “You are my wife,” Hagan says. “You will do as I say. I’m telling you to leave and never let me see your face again.”

  She blinks, her lips pressed together, latent tears trickling through the blood on her cheek. “You’re… setting me free?”

  “Did you not hear me, woman?” Hagan’s voice rises to a ferocious roar. “Get out of my sight!”

  Christiana is frozen and pale. “You don’t want me to see the fight.”

  “I won’t let you watch me kill your brother.”

  Her eyes fill, glossy with tears. “Then don’t do it.”

  “Enough!” Hagan grabs her, his big hands closing around her upper arms, but she doesn’t fight him this time.

  “You’re mine,” he says. “You will go or I will choke the life out of you.”

  “You won’t hurt me,” she whispers, meeting his eyes.

  “Don’t test me, woman.”

  “Woman,” she murmurs quietly, resolutely, before she shakes her head. “I won’t go.”

  Beside me, Nathaniel stirs, takes a careful step. “Christiana. You need to leave.”

  Her brown eyes flash to him. “No, brother…” She shakes her head, defiant tears dripping down her cheeks. “I won’t.”

  Nathaniel is suddenly angry, his voice rising. “This isn’t about you or me. It’s not about what we want. You know that! You have to be safe.”

  Her face crumples. “But—”

  “Go. Now.”

  Reaching up to place her palms over the backs of Hagan’s hands, she draws his arms away from her shoulders, holding on to one of his palms a moment longer than she needs to as she searches his eyes.

  He is a cold blank now, no emotion at all.

  Freeing herself, she runs to Nathaniel, hugging him, a sob dragging from her mouth before she spins to me. “Do not let my brother die. I can’t be the person he wants me to be.”

  She hitches up her dress while the hunters press in around us. Deftly darting between the men, she disappears into the night.

  My focus returns to Nathaniel as the hunters compel us to move—back past the White Walls toward the arena Nathaniel pointed out this afternoon.

  When we reach the White Wa
lls, Cyrian splits away from us with several hunters while Hagan remains with us, following slightly behind so I can’t see him without turning back.

  When we reach the western side of the Ditch, an opening yawns in it that I didn’t see earlier. It appears to lead down into the dark bowels of the building. Snake shoves me inside into the dim lighting. There are only a few torches along the way, leaving much of the walkway in shadows.

  The path descends at a gentle slope with levels dug out at intervals. I hesitate at the first one, glancing left and right at the rows of cages contained on each side before Snake pushes me forward again.

  My stomach feels hollow. I’m starving and filled with dread. The scent of fear sits heavy in the air as we descend. When we finally reach the lowest level, low keening meets my ears. Growls. Moans. Human or animal, I can’t tell which.

  Directly in front of us, a large, arched opening is covered by both a wooden hatch and a set of metal bars. The wooden barrier has the effect of dulling the sounds from outside and obscuring our view of what awaits us.

  I sense many people beyond the gate.

  As Hagan steps up beside us, Snake orders the other hunters to open the gates.

  The wooden hatch rises first, letting the sounds in—as well as the light. Then they raise the metal gate.

  Firelight floods the arena ahead of us, burning torches sitting all around its walls. The space is about one hundred paces long and slightly less wide—an oval shape. A combination of dirt and sand covers the ground, uneven and clumped in places.

  The arena isn’t as large as the Coliseum in Bright, but what it lacks in size, it makes up for in danger. Thick, metal spikes jut from the walls at both shoulder and ankle height. Running into them will be fatal.

  Two snarling wolves are chained at either side, their ropes long enough to reach a wide radius that will pose a danger if the men step within the wolves’ reach. I recognize the animals as the ones that traveled in the wagon with us this morning—one is the female we fought, her nose an inky black contrast to her blue-tinged fur. The other has pale charcoal fur and a white-flecked tail.

  Three other doorways lead into the arena at ground level—one on each side of the oval shape. They’re covered by large, arched, wooden hatches like the one we passed through.

  High above us, the viewing stalls are packed with humans, but unlike the arena in Bright, they are deathly quiet. Low murmurs. No cheering. Many of them huddle together against the cold.

  A wooden stand sits in the center of the arena, filled with weapons of all kinds. As we leave the underpass behind and enter the arena, I’m able to finally see the stands behind us.

  Cyrian sits on a throne on a dais similar to the one Imatra has in the Coliseum. He’s no longer wearing his bear pelt. The seats closest to him are filled with lords and ladies, including Lady Ethel, who appears to have recovered from the shock of seeing the dragon. A new crystal goblet dangles from her fingers as she leans toward one of the other men, deep in conversation with him.

  Hagan strides ahead of us, but Nathaniel catches his arm when we’re well clear of the hunters, who remain behind in the underpass.

  Nathaniel grips tightly enough to make Hagan jolt to a stop and glare at him.

  “Thank you,” Nathaniel says, his voice low.

  Hagan presses his lips together in an unhappy line.

  He points to the thick scar roping across his stomach. “The day Cyrian had me whipped for disobeying him, I should have died. Instead, I woke up alive and healed. Nobody ever said why, but I know it was because of you. For some light-forsaken reason, you struck a bargain for my life. Now I’ve repaid my debt.”

  “Freeing Christiana was more than repaying a debt,” Nathaniel says, a dangerous tone in his voice that demands truth.

  Hagan shakes him off. “Don’t mistake my intentions, Nathaniel Exalted. There is no path to redemption for me. Christiana is my only source of light. A hellish, fiery sort of light, I’ll admit, but light still the same. I did it for her.”

  Hagan casts an angry glance back at me, his eyes narrowing as he fixates on my bare cheeks again. He scrutinized me the same way when we arrived at the White Walls this evening.

  “You will explain to me what happened to your face, Aura Lucidia,” he says.

  I bite back a reply that I don’t need to explain anything to him.

  “I ate dirt,” I say, deciding on a sort of truth.

  For some reason, Hagan’s glower deepens. “To deliberately wipe a man’s name from your face before the ink wears off is to dishonor him.”

  Damn.

  My heart sinks. I wanted to put distance between Nathaniel and me, not publicly shame him. No wonder Ethel looked so delighted when she saw my face.

  Revealing nothing of the regret I feel, I cover my emotions with the cold expression I learned to wear in Bright. “That’s a human law. I’m not human.”

  Hagan steps up to me, lowering his line of sight to mine. “You’re damn right you’re not human. But you will pay under human law for what you did.”

  I’m immediately on my guard, but not because of his threat. What he said sounds a lot like Christiana’s accusation earlier. She pointed at me and said she would never trust me after what I did.

  My eyes narrow in thought. All humans hate me because I’m fae. I’m their enemy. But the way Hagan looks at me… the way he spoke… it’s as if he’s referring to something more specific.

  “What did I do?” I demand to know, even though I’m wary of the answer.

  Hagan’s jaw clenches. “You killed the only woman who ever gave me hope.”

  Confusion rises inside me. “Who?”

  Before Hagan can answer, Nathaniel steps between us.

  “Enough talk. It’s time to fight,” Nathaniel says, planting his clenched fist against Hagan’s chest, a firm threat.

  Hagan grits his teeth, his focus shifting from Nathaniel’s fist up to Nathaniel’s face. What he sees there seems to unsettle him. “She doesn’t know, does she?”

  Nathaniel shifts, half-turned to me. Shadows grow in his eyes, the same way they always do when he’s keeping secrets from me. His hair falls across his face like a boundary past which I can’t step. “It’s not your place to tell her, Hagan.”

  Dread builds inside me as I glance between them. Tell me… what?

  “Fuck that!” Hagan shouts at Nathaniel, shoving Nathaniel off himself. “She was important to me too.”

  Hagan grabs my arm so fast that he nearly dislocates it, wrenching me to the side. I fight my instinct to retaliate as the tension rises in the stands above us. At the edge of my vision, the King leans forward, gripping the railing, but he doesn’t demand that the fight begin. The fact that Cyrian is allowing us to continue talking can’t be a good thing. Neither is the smile growing across his face. I’m sure he’s too far away to hear us, but Hagan’s aggression toward me will be plain for everyone to see.

  “Aura Lucidia,” Hagan says, dragging me close enough that I can see the blood pounding at his neck, sense the thud of his heart. “Destroyer of hope. Killer of the weak. A cowardly murderer.”

  My eyes widen as his hatred for me is fully revealed. Only deep pain can cause this sort of rage, the kind of pain that won’t ever heal.

  “Who did I kill?” I whisper, needing to know the answer, even if I can never atone for it.

  “You killed the woman who pulled me from the dirt. Who gave me purpose. The only mother I ever knew.” He shakes me, his fist unbearably tight around my arm, but I hardly feel it.

  “Nathaniel carried her into the Misty Gallows,” Hagan says. “But I followed them. I watched you kill our Luciana. Our Paloma Exalted. You cut her down in a single strike and then dropped her in the mud as if she were nothing important.” He beats his free fist against his heart. “She was important to me!”

  My heart is cracking. “Paloma… Exalted…”

  I seek Nathaniel three steps away, hoping to discover that Hagan is telling me lies.

&
nbsp; Nathaniel’s shoulders, his fists, every part of him is beyond tense. Beyond wild. Beyond pain.

  “Hagan,” he snarls. “You had no right.”

  There is no triumph in Hagan’s voice, no glee, or joy. Only pain, gripping and hooking into me in a way that will never let me go.

  “You killed Nathaniel’s mother,” he says.

  Chapter 28

  Every limb in my body gives way, my weight dropping so fast that I fall to my knees, barely staying upright.

  Hagan lets me go, stepping away from me, his anger unyielding.

  The torches around the arena are suddenly glaringly hot, the air freezing cold. Sharp contradictions. I press the heel of my palm to my heart, but I feel nothing. My heart has stopped, the breath pausing in my chest.

  Yesterday morning, I was about to cut Nathaniel’s throat and he asked me…

  Am I braver than my mother?

  I hunch over my chest, my hands finding the dirt, digging into it and filling my fingernails with grit.

  I assumed someone else killed her, but who else could it have been?

  There is no atoning for this. No redemption. No way back.

  “Aura?” Nathaniel’s body casts me into shadow. He kneels in front of me, reaching for my chin, my cheeks, trying to make me look at him. “She asked to die by your hand. She was proud. Strong…” His voice breaks. “The Rot had reached her brain. She couldn’t walk, was losing her speech. She asked me to take her to the forest. She wanted a warrior’s death. You gave her that.”

  “That’s not the way Hagan and Christiana see it.”

  “They need someone to blame. You struck the final blow, but listen to me, Aura. Even at that moment, there was no darkness in you.”

  Closing my eyes, I try to block out the echo of Nathaniel’s shout yesterday. I told him that his people didn’t have to suffer. That I could heal the ones who came to the border to die.