“Give me a damn moment, Silas!”
His uncle fell silent, eyes wide, then huffed a breath before spinning on his heel and stalking into the manor.
Blaze exhaled, his breath a curling white wisp in the air. He stepped closer to Emma, noting the way her shoulders had fallen and her arms wrapped around herself. Her sniffles reached him, yanking on his heart and moving his feet faster.
Warmth still radiated from her, but her body began to shiver once again.
“Emma?”
She didn’t turn around, only looked beyond, out the open gate. Soft flakes began to fall again—a peaceful white blanket to cover up the slaughter that took place. It seemed wrong. Each frozen tear melted on Emma’s feverish skin, and her shivers grew more violent.
“Let’s get inside,” he said, and brushed his knuckles along her back.
She stilled. Then turned and looked at Blaze, making him suck in a sharp breath. Around her pupils, bloodred stained her irises, the green only visible on the edges.
Her voice cracked as she asked,“What’s happening to me?”
Words had escaped him, and he could do nothing but watch in fascination and shock while the red cleared away, leaving her bright green eyes shining with tears.
She bit the inside of her lip, though her jaw still stuttered from the aftereffects of using her powers. “I can feel myself changing.”
“I saw it too. With the Gargolosck. It’s like you weren’t even in your body. You enjoyed killing them. Their power, or energy, or whatever it is you take, it was too much for you. You were willing to let the building collapse on you—you didn’t care.” He gripped her biceps, forcing her to meet his gaze. She winced, but he didn’t let go.
“I was trying to save you, to distract them so everyone could get out,” she replied. Tears tracked clear paths through the dust and grime coating her cheeks. Bits of snow had begun to stick to her hair and dust her shoulders.
Despite her tears, her words angered him. “It was foolish! If Gertie and Sergei and the others hadn’t held up the roof, you’d be dead. Why was it so important to finish them off?” He wanted the truth. The truth of what happened in Sheol, about everything that she had been silent on. He knew now that the mark had forced her silence, but now that she was free of it, he wanted to know. He needed to know.
“I don’t know,” Emma snapped, huffing a frustrated breath. She pulled back her arms from his grip to swipe her tears away, creating murky streaks.“I don’t think straight when I have their power inside me. I’m sorry, okay?”
He softened his gaze. She was right: she wasn’t in control. But that frightened him more than the fearless power-hungry person it was turning her into. His fingers ran through his hair, pushing back the too-long strands from his eyes. “What’s important is that you come back to me every time.”
He sighed. He hoped she always would. But from the way sadness had overtaken her expression again, he wondered if it were possible. If, when this was all said and done, she’d still be the Emma he was falling for.
“Tell me what happened, Em. I want to know everything.”
She swallowed hard. Then her gaze met his, and the words that came from her mouth felt distant and disconnected.“Your sister is alive.”
It took a second for the words to register. Then his breath evaporated in his lungs. He staggered back a step, eyes wide while his pulse hammered through him. “What did you say?” His voice was so low, he wasn’t sure if it had actually crossed his lips. He cleared his throat and tried again.“What did you say?”
Fresh tears fell from her eyes, and she smiled. “Haddie is alive. We became…friends.”
“How do you know?” he ground out. His eyes searched her face for the lie. The trick. Maybe the venom had reached his brain, and this was all a hallucination. Hadessah was dead.
Surely she was dead.
“William,” Emma whispered.
He blinked, feeling like his chest was about to explode.
“That’s your name, isn’t it?”
His knees gave out, landing on freshly fallen snow, but he didn’t feel it. His head bowed to the cold earth, pain ramrodding through his chest. It wasn’t the physical pain of an injury or an ailment, but one he hadn’t felt in decades.
“She’s alive?”His accent was thick as he stared at the glittering white ground, his hands fisting the fresh powder. He didn’t care that red and black coated the layer beneath.
“Yes,” she breathed. Then she knelt before him. Slowly, she lifted her hand, placing it on his cheek. The rough stubble audibly scraped her palm, but she didn’t seem to notice. Sliding her hand to his chin, she lifted his face.
Her fragile smile cracked, no doubt at seeing the tears that fell from his eyes.“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier,” she said, and a sob broke from her chest.
Blaze’s throat bobbed. Then he crushed her to his chest, wrapping her tightly in his arms. She cried against his leather jacket that was caked with dried blood. The dam burst open and together, wrapped around each other in the snow, they wept. His lips were gentle and reverent on hers, on her cheeks, on her closed lids, on her jaw, on her neck. She melted against him and he wished they were somewhere more private. If anyone came out and tried to strip her of her much-needed emotional unloading, he’d threaten them away.
He let her pour out unintelligible words and tried to keep her warm in the wintry downfall.
When at last her shivers were truly from the cold, he swept her into his arms, cradling her before he trudged to the manor. She didn’t fight him, only buried her face into the space between his neck and shoulder. Her wild, matted hair still somehow smelled of sugar and cinnamon, making him smile.
He carried her up the stairs and pushed open her door. Laying her gently on the bed, he tugged off her wet shoes and socks. He was undoing the button on her jeans when her eyes flew wide.
“Calm down. You can’t go to bed in wet clothes.”
“I can undress myself,” she said, springing out of the bed.
He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but smile when she snatched up fleece pajama bottoms patterned in little latte cups and a sweater before closing the bathroom door behind her.
He heard the shower turn on, stood, and decided to head to his room to do the same thing.
The hot water stung his left arm, which was still slightly colder than the rest of his body, but at least he wouldn’t die from Shax venom.
After emerging from the steam-filled room he crossed to his desk and pulled open the top drawer. The rose-gold hilt glinted in the light pouring from the window above. He ran a finger over the thorny vines that wrapped around the curved grip.
The decision was easy: he’d give it to her. But before he’d even dressed, the sound of Emma’s quiet breathing reached his ears—she’d already fallen asleep. He lifted the sheathed dagger out of the drawer and slid it closed, before turning to get dressed.
Entering her room with all the stealth of a thief, he smiled at her sleeping form and crept to her side table, where he laid the dagger. She didn’t so much as stir when he walked over to the bed to pull the duvet up to her shoulders. She no longer shivered, her features relaxed with sleep, allowing him to sneak out into the hall.
He needed to find Axel and let him know their sister was still alive.
25
Levaroth
L evaroth roared as the icy dagger pierced his side. His warm blood flowed from the newest wound. Yet he shivered with cold.
He was so cold.
“You helped her, didn’t you?”Asmodeus bellowed. The sound bounced off the stone walls, floor, and ceiling, and shook the chamber like booming thunder.
Levaroth’s jaw snapped, and he snarled,“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His master circled him, still clutching the dark, stained magical blade that glowed and pulsed with blue, icy light. The smile that curved his lips was triumphant and wicked.“Who is Emma Duvall?”
Levaroth gr
oaned inwardly. This was the fifth time the prince had asked. “I told you, I’ve never heard that name before,” he gritted.
The frosty blade trailed his spine while Asmodeus pondered where to drive it in next.“Who is Rowek Zennett?”
Levaroth blinked. A cord of familiarity seemed to press on the walls of his mind, but drifted away as if redirected.“Who?”
The prince smiled with satisfaction before turning to face the wide-eyed Spellcaster. His brother, Tlahaz, stood behind her like some protective guard dog, but there was something in his dark eyes that made Levaroth’s gut clench. Both Tlahaz and Prince Asmodeus were in human forms, perhaps so as not to frighten the witch. Levaroth’s wings pinned to the wall behind him flexed, trying to draw her attention to them.
To frighten her.
To feed from her fear.
His stomach tightened with hunger. How long had it been since he last fed?
“Good work. Are the memories gone, or can they still be accessed?”
Memories?
“Th-there is a b-block on them,” she explained, twisting her hands together, trying to distract herself from her own fear. “Hidden behind a wall, kind of.” At the prince’s bored look, she stammered,“I-I can access them.”
Levaroth wanted to ask what she needed to access. In fact, he couldn’t remember who she was or why she was here. Why am I here?
“Twist them,” his master said, smiling wide and cruel.“I want him so thirsty for her blood that he will stop at nothing to rip her throat out.”
The Spellcaster shivered but didn’t dare refuse.
“Forgive me for my failings, my prince.” Levaroth dipped his head as much as his stiff shoulder would allow.“I do not know why I am here.”
Asmodeus’s smile widened, his sharp teeth glinting.“Never forget that you are a weapon, Levaroth. And I am the master that wields you.”
“Yes,” he breathed.
The Spellcaster walked toward him, her head bowed. He could smell her tears, but he couldn’t taste her emotions. He strained against his bonds, against the magic that held him.
Taste her.
Feed.
So weak.
Her head lifted, eyes glowing with violet light, then she raised her palms. They too illuminated the blackness.
Pain filled his skull, ripping a scream from his charred throat.
26
Blaze
B laze strode down the wide corridor, grimacing at the trails of mud and wet marking the Victorian-style carpet. His mother would have had a fit if she saw it in such a state,
and he made a mental note to have it cleaned as soon as possible. His uncle rounded the top of the marble staircase, face red and splotched, his eyes full of rage. “Finally! Dare I ask what you’ve been doing all this time?” Silas didn’t wait for his response. “The other elders and I demanded answers from the soldiers on watch here, and one of them led us to a particularly interesting item. He insisted that Axel, your brother, had given this to him to place at the back edge of the wards this morning.” His uncle’s long, gloved fingers dove into his suit pocket and procured a small parcel wrapped in lavender cloth. From its edges, Blaze spied stones and herbs, and the reek of magic assaulted his nostrils.
His brow slammed down as he observed it, but he didn’t dare touch it without gloves.“Have you spoken to Gertie about it?”
Silas gave a long-suffering sigh, like Blaze was a small child. “Of course we spoke to the Spellcaster. She claims it wasn’t of her making, but she did confirm that it would weaken a portion of her ward enough to allow Shediem through.”
Blaze headed for the staircase.“Where are Axel and Gertie? And which soldier did you speak to?”
“All three have been secured. For the safety of everyone in the compound, of course.”
Blaze whirled on his uncle, who nearly crashed into him. “They’re locked up like criminals?” he growled.
“Until we ascertain what went on here, yes. It is for the best, nephew. Do not think to interfere. I have the backing of all the elders and regional leaders barring one.”
“Who?” Blaze’s voice was harsh and grating as he took the stairs three at a time, barreling past Emerelda, whose eyes were red and puffy, hiccupping after him. Fresh tears poured down her face. But Blaze didn’t stop—he needed to get to his brother.
“Dominic,” Silas answered dryly.
Blaze fought a smile. He’d known it was Dominic, but it gave him a bit of amusement to hear his uncle confirm it. His friend always made a show of going against whatever Blaze’s uncle demanded. Dominic had helped hunt the Shediem that killed his mother and Haddie. No, Haddie is alive.
But what state she was in, he wasn’t entirely sure. Emma had said they had become friends, which made him dare to believe she was okay. No doubt she was scarred and a little broken, but she was strong. And once they got her back, he and Axel could help her deal with whatever demons now haunted her.
Axel. He shook his head. His brother wasn’t a traitor. He couldn’t be. And he had been in New Orleans for the past few days. But he hadn’t seen his brother during the fight or after. So where had he gone?
When his ears finally registered that Emerelda had been speaking, he stopped abruptly, just as his uncle said,“Your fiancé is perfectly safe, my dear. You need not worry yourself—we just want to find out what’s going on, that’s all.”
She nodded, then met Blaze’s stare, before offering a small smile and curtsy. He ignored her. He couldn’t deal with drama right now.
Down the steps he went, behind a false wall in the supply cupboard, down, down, down. The air was significantly colder with a hint of mildew, and the rattle and clinking of chains met Blaze when he descended.
The underground keep was different from the enchanted cells on the grounds where the Shediem were held. This one was meant to be a safe bunker for disasters, or a prison for traitors. Its chains were designed to be able to hold even the strongest Giborim and neutralize Spellcaster magic.
Only a single bulb lit the large, dank space. Three people were bound in separate cells, and every single one looked to Blaze and his uncle when they came into view on the bottom landing.
Gertie sighed with relief, but Blaze only had eyes for his brother. Axel didn’t look away, not a trace of guilt on his face. His body trembled like Emma’s had after feeding from the Shediem.
At last, Blaze looked at the third person, Oliver Philips. His eyes were glazed over, and a light sheen of sweat covered him, dampening his T-shirt. Blaze stalked toward him slowly, tilting his head to the side. Oliver tracked Blaze’s movement, but nothing registered in his face.
“Did you let the Shediem in, Philips?” Blaze asked, coming to a stop a few feet from the bars of Oliver’s cell.
“Naw, I didnae,” Oliver said in his deep, Scottish brogue. There was little inflection in the words. Almost robotic.
Blaze’s patience snapped, and he lunged for the bars with a loud clang. “Who gave you the anti-ward charm, Philips?” he demanded with fury.
Oliver didn’t so much as flinch. With painful slowness, his head turned, and his eyes landed on Axel, who watched with a scowl.
“Axel gave it to you? Did he say where he got it?”
“Naw, he didnae.”
Axel scoffed, but Blaze ignored him. “When did he give it to you?”
“Five days ago. In the mornin’. Just after breakfast.”
Gertie made a choked sound that sounded like a sob. Blaze pushed away from the bars and went to stand in front of her, ignoring his brother’s sputtering altogether.
“Did you make an anti-ward charm for any reason, Gertie?” Blaze asked. He didn’t allow his voice to be gentle, and it grated on his heart. Especially when she sniffled.
“No! No! No! I’d never do that! I didn’t even possess the necessary ingredients!”
Blaze sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“And how do you know what ingredients it requires?” his uncle snapped.
“Can you make a list of the necessary ingredients for me, Gertie?” Blaze asked, cutting off his uncle’s sharp retort.
She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut.
Blaze moved back to the middle cell, which held his brother. Axel gave him a haughty look, but his eyes burned with anger.
“Did you give Oliver Philips an anti-ward charm, for any reason?”
“Of course not,” his brother spat.
Blaze sighed. “Even if it was for another reason, Andrew, I need to know.”
His brother started at the use of his real name, but quickly recovered. He leaned forward, as far as the manacles secured above his head would allow.“I. Didn’t.”
He wanted to believe his brother. And something about Oliver didn’t seem quite right.
Blaze looked back to Gertie. “Is there any way Philips is under some kind of spell?” he whispered, even though he knew Oliver could hear him. But Oliver didn’t so much as look in their direction.
“I-I don’t know,” she replied.“I suppose it’s possible.”
Blaze nodded, then straightened, looking toward his uncle. “Release Gertie. She’s coming with us.”
“For what?” his uncle asked, incredulous.
“Sound the evacuation alarm. I want everyone out of their rooms and in the courtyard. Don’t give them time to grab or hide anything.” Blaze ignored his uncle’s confused expression, wishing he didn’t have to wake Emma too.“I’m going to search the rooms, and Gertie is going to help. We’ll see if anyone in this house left behind anything that was used to create the anti-ward charm. I doubt anyone would be that stupid, but it’s a starting point.”
Axel’s eyes widened, though he didn’t say anything when Silas unlocked Gertie’s cell and let her walk ahead of them both.
With his foot on the bottom stair, Blaze cast a final glance at his brother.“For your sake, I hope you weren’t lying.”
The Throne of Broken Bones (Weapon of Fire and Ash Book 3) Page 20
