by Cecy Robson
The rocks and debris aren’t real. Misha still somewhat is. The impact of his body colliding with mine hurts like a mother and forces the air brutally from my lungs. I lose the stick I found as we land at the bottom, near a brook, with me on top of him. The impact stuns him. I punch him in the nuts with my right arm as I scramble away.
He hollers, grabbing his crotch. Sparky hits harder than I do, except she needs my help to do it, and I’m barely able to move.
I army crawl through the mud and up the incline, trying to put space between us. Above me, the sky morphs from sunset orange to a furious red. If the pain in my chest and my breath would allow it, I’d laugh into the wind and throw Johnny some major shade. As it is, I can barely force my middle finger up or my legs to keep going.
Misha clasps my ankle. I grab onto an exposed root, hoping it holds. I don’t feel the grooves along the twisted shape, I only feel enough to grasp. I kick out when Misha pulls me harder. He loses his hold, but my victory is temporary.
I glance over my shoulder. He’s baring his fangs, and his bloody features contort with rage. I curse when he leaps and snags my foot. My curses turn to screams when he digs his fangs into my calf. I lose my grasp on the root. Like an animal dragging his dinner home, Misha crawls backward, taking me with him.
Aching, burning pain shoots from my calf into my hip. Below the bite, my leg is oddly numb. He’s doing something to me, but I don’t give it much thought. I need to survive. I will not be the prey he mistakes me for.
My free leg kicks hard enough to nail him in what remains of his nose. His fangs release me, and he jerks away. I don’t even manage an inch between us before he grips my ankles and drags me the rest of the way.
Misha spits out blood. “You know what your problem is, bitch?”
I wipe my mouth enough to speak. “My balls are bigger than yours?”
Hell, if I can’t fight him physically, I’ll damn well screw with his mind.
An eerie calm enshrouds his naked form, adding scary points to something already seriously hideous. “No,” he says. “It’s that you don’t know when to stop.” He smiles. “And that you fail to see you’re already dead.”
“Okay,” I say, breathing hard. “Now you’re just saying shit to sound dramatic.”
His kick to my side has me curling inward and screaming in agony. He throws himself on top of me, pinning my legs with his knees and pushing down my wrists. In my state, the only fight left in me is in my right arm. I rip it free when he lowers to bite my throat and punch him in the head.
He jolts, and I do it again. It’s not as severe as my first strike, but it allows me to break free.
I trip as I stand, catching sight of the stick I lost when I fell down the ravine. I snag it, clamber to my feet, and swing as hard as I can.
The wood collides with Misha’s head, forcing him down. I don’t bother running away this time. I’m on him, beating him over and over.
The feel of his skull crushing inward rattles through my arms, and still, I don’t stop. It takes the stick breaking in half for me to finally stop swinging. Even then, I pick up the sharpest piece and ram it through Misha’s chest.
I back away, shaking and trying hard not to look at the chunks of brain soiling the ground, the thing that was supposed to be Misha, or the brutality I never believed I was capable of.
It’s one thing to use my lightning and fire to sizzle and burn, it’s another to kill something, however unreal, with your bare hands. I keep walking backward until I can’t. Then I sit in the mud and cry alone.
The sun sets in Johnny’s makeshift world, my tears stopping long after the moon overtakes the sky.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I spend hours drawing circles, chanting like a fiend, and swearing in between. I do everything I can to get out of here. It feels like hours pass. Except in Johnny’s world, nothing really makes sense. I could be months ahead of time or gone just a few seconds like I was in that swamp-creature-infested bathroom.
After a very exhausting effort, I tug at the hem of my dress and huddle near the fire I created.
The spark I conjured was barely enough, just as the kindling I gathered was barely enough to be considered wood. Both worked enough to beat back the darkness and the cold I think I should feel.
The quiet is getting to me. Even the fire is absent of sound. There’s no crackle and barely any heat. The coldness I initially sensed when I landed in this hell hole is replaced by the cold sensation surrounding Misha’s corpse, where it lays just a few yards away.
Oh, sure, I tried to get away from it, but I didn’t get far. The incline was difficult to maneuver in the dark. Dirt fell in chunks as if something stirred beneath. It wasn’t my imagination. I’m certain there was lots of stirring and plenty of moaning. The moans were the kicker. Me and Sparky here decided it was best to stay put where creepy things didn’t move underground.
The quiet, as unnerving as it is, does make it easier to hear something sneak up. It also gives me plenty of time to think. Me killing fake Misha pops into my mind one too many times. I force it away and focus on Johnny. His features were oddly attractive. I don’t mean he’s not attractive in general. He was just more so in a CGI kind of way than real flesh and bone. It could be related to the magic around here and the amount Destiny is forcing through the manor. Except Johnny seemed so different from the time I caught him in his lair or whatever that was I saw when I was drowning.
I huddle closer to the fire, hugging my knees and allowing my head to fall forward. I want to sleep. Hell, I need it. I fight it anyway. There’s not much I know about this crazy world Johnny created. All I know is sleep will likely earn me a gruesome and bloody death.
Sparky’s light fades in and out. She appears weak. I’m hoping she’s tired or conserving energy, except around here, that may be too much to hope for.
My head jerks up when the silence is replaced by steps in the distance. I shake out Sparky when she lights up and shuts off, creating a strobe effect. Like a lighthouse, she guides whatever is out there closer. The footsteps turn more audible, faster, scarier.
Shit.
I reach for a rock and shake my hand harder. “Knock it off,” I order. “Do you want to be used as an incubator when whatever kills me lays eggs? I don’t think so.”
Like a rebellious teen, she grows brighter and more obnoxious. The footsteps are almost on top of me. Something reaches the edge of the ravine.
I don’t see him. I feel him. He’s a predator, vicious and angry, and he’s…hunting.
I back up and away from the fire as he rampages forward, lifting Sparky like a shield.
“Taran!”
Gemini leaps over the fire. From one step to the next, he’s on me, cuddling me and wrapping me in his massive body.
My chest heaves in and out. I think I’m crying, but no tears come. I think I’ll pass out, but my eyes are alert, taking him in.
“You’re alive,” Gemini says. “Jesus. I thought I lost you.”
I want to scream with joy and fear and everything I feel at seeing my mate. Other than a pained gulp, nothing else comes out. He strokes my hair away from my face laughing. “You’re not saying anything.”
I laugh, too, while my pent-up tears cause a sting within my eyes. “Trust me when I say, I’m more shocked than you.”
My face is covered with dirt and whatever fake-Misha parts hit me. Gemini doesn’t care. He kisses my face and lips, keeping me close as if I’ll vanish again. I return his embrace and his love, terrified he’ll leave me too.
We fall into a perfect silence, not like the one that surrounds us, but one I need just then. His body is strong, warm, and beautifully real. I welcome it, allowing his strength to reenergize me.
“How are you…here?”
His large hand slides along my back. “Misha.”
“What?” I ask. “What do you mean, Misha? I thought you lost him?”
“That’s what we all believed.” Gemini releases a long breath. “He
arrived into Genevieve’s quarters not long after you were sucked into the fucking circle.”
“I wasn’t sucked.” He makes it sound like I didn’t put up a fight. “I fell.” Never mind, that’s not any better.
He throws back his head, laughing. “You have no idea how good it feels to hear you argue with me.”
“I am pretty damn good at it.” I rub my face against his chest. He’s wearing sweatpants and nothing else. The same clothes he returned in when they thought they lost Misha.
“What happened?” I ask.
“After you ‘fell’ into the hole, Celia continued levitating above it. None of us could get into the circle, and we wouldn’t allow her to move, worried she’d get sucked in.”
“You mean fall,” I correct.
I don’t have to see him to know he’s smirking. “We called Genevieve back. She couldn’t do anything. Misha could.”
“How is he?” I ask.
Gemini isn’t impressed by Misha. He doesn’t care how powerful he is, and his friendship with Celia bothers him. It’s not admiration I hear in his voice, it’s something else. Perhaps the barest trace of respect. “He came in, weak from battle and bordering on bloodlust with hunger. Aric fed him—”
“You lying,” I reply in my thickest Jersey accent.
“I assure you, I’m not. Aric gave Misha his blood.”
My jaw is opened in the most unattractive way possible. “Tell me they fell into a passionate embrace. That both had screaming orgasms as a result. Tell me it was so good they spooned like lovers afterward and shared a cigar.”
Gemini makes a face. “No. And thank you for that visual.” He shudders. “Aric cut his veins open and poured his blood into a glass.”
“Oh,” I mutter. “I think my way was more exciting, thrilling even.”
“For you,” he quips. “Not for them. It’s an honor to have the blood of an alpha as revered as Aric. Yet there was Misha, holding his nose as he drank. His vampires glanced away, disgusted. Except for Edith Anne, who asked for a sip.”
I try not to laugh and totally fail. “Did anyone capture that moment?”
He huffs. “Shayna managed a few selfies…until Celia slapped the phone out of her hands and told her to get ahold of herself. If we weren’t so desperate, I think the remaining pack would have flipped the vampires and Shayna off.”
“You do have an exceptionally long middle finger, dear,” I agree. As absurdly bad as this whole situation is, I would have made it rain Benjamins to catch that action live.
“Between Misha’s connection to Celia and Aric’s mate bond to Celia.”
“Oh, and don’t forget my connection to Celia as her sister,” I interject.
He rubs his forehead against mine. “Would you like me to finish? Or do you care to tell the story yourself?”
“You’re doing an okay job. Keep going.” I nuzzle closer. “Besides, I’m just reminding you that I’m really here, babe.”
He pauses briefly before passing his lips along my crown. “Yes, you are, my darling.”
I’ve missed you too.
“The feed from Aric’s blood and the connection shared between all of us was enough for Misha to break the circle. Aric was able to grab Celia, and I was able to take her place. Like you, I fell in. My twin tried to follow but wasn’t fast enough.”
Gemini’s twin is slightly faster than Gemini. And Gemini is freaking bionic. “How do you know he’s still with the group?”
He closes his eyes briefly. “I can see through his eyes. It’s not as clear here in this realm, and the words sound muffled, but I hear enough.”
I’m afraid to ask. “And what do you hear?”
“Genevieve reported that the witches have breached the perimeter and are guarding it. They think they can create enough of an opening to break out of the compound.”
“They think?” I ask.
Gemini mulls over his words. “The wards were closer to months, instead of weeks, in the making, love,” he reminds me. “The witch covens, although many, haven’t had long to weaken them. Celia and Aric will likely get through.”
“What about everyone else?”
He shakes his head. “They’re not sure. But they’ll try.”
“If they’re not slaughtered getting there.” My body numbs. I can’t imagine how many witches died simply reaching the perimeter. I think back to the witch with the Australian accent. Is she among those breaking through the wards, or is she already dead?”
“They’re in danger no matter where they are. If the opportunity for Celia to escape is there, Aric has to take it.”
It’s what he says, but I hear the worry in his voice.
“We’re almost out of food in the manor. None of us will survive if we remain, no matter how many Nytes we kill.”
“I get it. But what happens if there are more Nytes waiting outside the compound? Don’t you think Johnny and his buddies have factored that into this screwed-up plan? Aric and Celia are lethal. But they are only two beings, and Fate has created an army.”
“I know. It’s another reason we must find a way out of here. Fate may have an army, but we do, too, however small. We have to get back and assure all of us who remain make it out alive.”
I don’t want to think about how many more will perish. It’s not fair. Neither is the situation Celia is in. She never wanted the responsibility of carrying the savior of the world. She only wanted a baby with the man she loved. I look up at Gemini. Christ, is that so wrong?
Gemini secures me against him. I don’t have to speak for him to know what I’m feeling. But I do say what I have to. “I’m not sure I know how to get back to them.”
“You can’t use your magic in here?”
My fingers dance along his spine. “Sparky seems out of sorts here, except I’m not certain why.”
He growls. “We must be close to his hiding spot. I can’t change, and my senses are dull.”
“Then how did you find me?” I ask. I tilt my chin when I notice how thick his goatee is. “And how long have you looked?”
“Three days.”
“You have to be kidding me,” I step away from him. “I’ve been gone three days? It’s felt like a few hours—long hours, but not days.”
He closes his eyes in that way he does when he’s reaching out to his wolf. “Hmm.” It’s all he says when he looks at me.
I wave my arms dramatically, something I’ve become really great at since this nightmare began. “Care to elaborate? I’m dying here.”
“Your time here appears to match the time inside Genevieve’s quarters.” He scans the area, pausing when he gets a whiff of leftover Misha bits.
“Stay put,” he tells me.
“Nope,” I reply. I almost bump into him when he stops short.
“Do you want to die in here?” he asks.
“No,” I admit. “This is a sucky place to die.”
“Then stay put,” he growls.
I grin. “You’re so cute thinking your growls have any effect on me. Only in the bedroom, big boy. Only in the bedroom.”
He growls again, but I catch the smirk.
“Look,” I begin. “Maybe only a few hours have passed, but it’s already been too long. I’m sticking with you, and that’s just how it’s going to be from now on.”
His smile is soft and there and so what I need. “It sounds like the best idea you’ve shared in a long time.”
I return his smile. “Consider us two rays of sticky sunshine.”
My hand clasps his as we ease forward. When I hesitate to approach Misha any closer than a few feet, Gemini crouches and takes a deep breath. The smell of death and rot to the remains is not pungent, it’s barely there at all. Given my time in the supernatural world, I recognize festering aromas as well as I do my own arm.
Misha’s blond hair is coated with mud and bits of him, and multiple strands appear glued to the ground and debris. I recognize parts of him as the real Misha, the long torso, the muscles that proclaim s
peed, agility, and wrath, except now that I look closer, he seems slightly off, just as Johnny did.
“It’s supposed to be Misha,” I say.
“I gathered as much by the ridiculous hair.” Gemini quiets, appearing pensive.
“What is it?”
“Not Misha,” he says.
“Well, I figured as much.”
“It’s Johnny,” he says. “At least a part of him.”
“Yes,” I agree. “This whole place is Johnny, as well as everything he’s created. Just like the wards that are still holding our Destiny.”
I tell him what happened. All of it, including my suspicions on how Johnny isn’t really Johnny anymore.
“CGI?” he repeats when I finish.
I cross my arms and edge farther away from the corpse. “It’s the best way I can describe him. You know when we used to watch Game of Thrones? How good the CGI was?” He nods. “But regardless of the advances in technology, the special effects were always just a little off. Like, you knew it wasn’t real, and not just because dragons don’t exist.”
Again, he nods. “Johnny was the same way,” I explain. “His creatures are real, and his mind-screw of the rooms are spot on.”
“The rooms are easy compared to everything else,” Gemini says, appearing to understand where I’m headed. “He only has to manipulate the magic within it, not create it from scratch.”
“Exactly,” I agree. “And while he created the Nytes over time, their deaths are costing him. This realm, or whatever we’re in, is costing him too. He can’t keep it up. There are no sounds. Barely any scents. Hardly anything real. It’s like abandoned artwork, only half done.”
I cut myself off. “Oh, my God,” I say. “I know what’s he’s doing.”
I think back to how I saw him crouched on the floor when the image of me he dreamed up tried to drown me. I thought the little perv was whacking off to our pain, getting his dirty on while we suffered and tried not to die.
