by Laken Cane
“River County needs you, Will. I wish you’d stay to help protect it.”
He was silent for a moment. “I will return.”
“Skyll and the path are more likely to fuck you up than to fix you,” she told him.
“Fix him?” Roma gave a quizzical half-smile. “What do you mean, fix him?”
The assassin sighed.
Roma stopped walking. “You want to walk that horrific path because you have some idiotic notion that you can heal your body in Skyll?”
Will kept going and didn’t answer.
“The path will make you worse,” Roma insisted, hurrying to catch up with him. “And if it doesn’t, Skyll will.”
“It couldn’t be worse,” he muttered, staring resolutely straight ahead.
“Show me your face,” Roma told him. “Maybe you just need someone to see it and show you that you’re not scary or horrible or ugly.” She tugged his arm. “Show me.”
He actually laughed. Not a fake laugh or a hard laugh or a derisive laugh. He was genuinely amused.
“I’ve never heard you laugh,” Rune said. “I wasn’t sure you could.”
“I am not easily amused.”
Understatement, that.
“You have a soft spot for me,” Roma noted.
He snorted. “Perhaps, little one.”
Rune jerked when the assassin’s arm accidentally brushed against hers.
You have to fuck the assassin…
And she damned Gunnar all over again for planting that shit in her mind.
Chapter Twenty
Wormwood was hazy with smoke. The scent of blood was still strong, and everywhere she looked she saw patches of burnt, ashy ground and black, leafless trees.
“Fucking humans,” Rune muttered.
Gunnar stepped into her path. “Your Highness,” he said, politely.
He didn’t look at her.
She closed her eyes and almost, almost let a sob escape. Then she squared her shoulders and kicked her emotions into submission.
“Gunnar.”
“I am,” he agreed, his face turned slightly away. “I am Gunnar the Ghoul.”
“I’m glad.”
He said nothing.
“You’re alone, Gunnar.”
“Yes.”
“What happened to Dawn?”
Surprise lit his face for a second. “She is still here. She will always be here. Somewhere.”
She smiled. “You’re back to normal.”
“Almost.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “What do you have to tell me?”
He looked at her then, his own eyebrow lifted. “That depends. What do you have for Gunnar?”
She slid the Baby Ruth from her pocket. “I only brought one.”
He took it, then held it under his nose for a long, ecstatic sniff. “You will bring more.”
“Of course I will.”
He nodded and put the candy bar away. “I have freed your berserker.”
Something loosened inside her, even though she wasn’t sure she believed him. “You took him out of the horror,” she murmured. “Swear, Gunnar.”
Like a trusting, hopeful child.
A spark of pity lit his dark gaze. “I swear, Your Pitiableness.”
She cleared her throat. “Tell me.”
“Whilst the power roared inside me, wild and uncontrollable, I set your berserker free. He…” He hesitated, his eyes darting.
“Go on.”
“He, too, is changed.”
“Yeah,” she said. “He’d have to be, wouldn’t he?”
He stared at the ground.
“Did he speak? Did he…” She wet her lips. “Could he speak?”
“He only ran away.”
That was when she stopped believing Strad was alive. If Gunnar had freed him, he’d killed him to do it.
The berserker would not have run away.
The berserker was dead.
But she’d accepted that back in Killing Land. She’d buried him.
Liar.
He was gone, and she could live with that.
Fucking liar.
As long as he wasn’t stuck for eternity inside the horror of the path-born creature, she could live with that.
“What else?” she asked the ghoul.
“I carried your messages to the ones you once knew. It went as I predicted.”
She lost her breath, but only for a second. “The only person I care to hear about is Z. Did you tell him we have a baby?”
His long, tangled hair slid over his shoulder when he nodded. “I did. And he was…confused.”
She wasn’t shocked. Sad, but not shocked. “Thanks, Gunnar.”
Roma crept toward the ghoul, her palms up.
He didn’t look at her and didn’t scold her, even as she slipped around him, her nose twitching.
“You smell like home,” she whispered. “Sometimes I miss home.”
He ignored Roma completely and stared over Rune’s head, his eyes full of determination. “I am not as I was, Your Highness. But I remember what I should remember. If a gift comes from the edge of hell, you should destroy it.”
She frowned. “What gift?”
“You will know. And you will remember the witch’s words. They were true.” He began to slide away, as though he was afraid she would hurt him for his truth.
“Gunnar,” she said, sharply. “No more half-truths. No more hints. Fucking say what you have to say.”
“I dare not. If it doesn’t come to fruition, you will only suffer with miserable worry.”
“That’s my business. Tell me.”
He drew himself to his full height. “I will not. Trust that I know better about some things.” Then he shrugged. “Or do not.”
It didn’t matter what happened to him—Gunnar was never really going to change.
“Wait,” Will said, stepping around Rune to face the ghoul. “Show me the way to Skyll. Show me the path, Gunnar.”
“Come. I will tell you where to go.” And without another word to Rune, the ghoul turned away. And with Will at his side, he melted into the shadows of his beloved and still burning Wormwood.
“There’s more,” Rune murmured. “There’s so much more.”
“He will tell you in his time,” Roma said. “It’s his way.”
“His way is fucked up,” Rune snarled, then turned to stomp from the graveyard.
“I think that same thing about you sometimes,” Roma said. “But you believe your way is the right way. Just as the ghoul does.”
Rune narrowed her eyes. “It’s not my way I believe in. Just the right way.”
“To you, they are the same.”
Rune stopped walking and shot out a hand to halt the wererabbit. “If you have something to say, spit it out.”
Roma dropped her gaze. “It’s confusing to me, is all.”
“What is?”
“You’re heartbroken that part of your crew stayed behind and you won’t…” She stopped talking and gestured helplessly. “You won’t let them go. You’re hurt and angry and you won’t let them go. I don’t like to see you in pain.”
“I’m not in pain,” Rune bit out. “I’m fucking pissed that they chose Skyll over us. Not just me, but the crew. This fucking world. They were assholes.”
But were they? Who was she to decide Lex, Owen, and Strad were assholes simply because they’d decided to walk their own paths?
Lex had been blind. In Skyll she could see. Who was Rune to think the girl should choose darkness over sight?
And Strad…
“I’m not leaving you, sweetheart. You’re leaving me.”
“I had responsibilities here,” Rune half yelled. “I had to heal the Others. I had to return to my crew. I—”
“You could have stayed with them, but you chose not to. Perhaps they are angry and betrayed. Perhaps they are abandoned.”
Rune clenched her fists, tempted to punch the girl. “I could not stay. It was my fault the Others were
dying and I had to return to them. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“You could have stayed,” Roma shouted. “You could have stayed and I would have stayed and we’d have made Skyll wonderful.” Her face crumbled and she began crying silent, miserable tears. “I miss my home.”
Rune blew out a tired breath. “You want to walk the path with Will and return to Skyll,” she stated, quietly.
Roma halted mid-sob and gaped. “Return to that horrific shithole of a world? Not in a million years.”
“But you just said—”
“I said I miss home. Sometimes I do. Certain scents or sounds trigger the better memories and make me sad. But I am not insane. Neither walking a hateful path nor returning to a treacherous world holds appeal. Besides,” she said, after wiping her nose on the back of her hand, “I’ve given you my life. I will protect you until I die. It is all I truly want. My purpose.” She lifted her chin and grinned through her tears.
Rune stared, unable to find a single thing to say. Finally, she began walking once again, Roma at her side.
“I just think you should let them go,” Roma said, a few moments later. “It’s hurtful for you to keep that resentment inside.”
“They’re dead to me,” Rune said.
But even to her ears, her words were halfhearted and full of pain.
“Aww, Princess. They won’t return,” Roma said, gently. “I don’t think they can. There is only the unkind path, and you would not like to see them as your berserker was.”
“Roma.”
“I know. I’m a smart girl.”
Rune snorted, then grinned. “We’re allowed to mourn the ones we lose—no matter what they did to us. I might need a fucking minute to grieve.”
“Okay,” Roma answered.
“I’ll stop blaming them for staying,” Rune said, but those words weren’t for Roma. The girl was right. “Let’s not speak of this again.”
Roma gave a crisp nod. “It’s not good to stew and sulk overly long.”
Rune sighed. “At least Gunnar is back, safe and…” She shrugged. “Safe.”
“We should ask him about the creatures falling from the sky. Perhaps he knows why it happened.”
“We will. But right now, we’ll go home to sleep before we both fall over.”
But sleeping was the last thing on her mind.
When they arrived home, she tiptoed to Kader’s room and stood watching her until she was sure Roma was asleep.
The house was quiet, but outside, the Moor was as boisterous as ever. Ellie had decided to play white noise in Kader’s room so the Moor wouldn’t disturb her. They’d also soundproofed her room, but still, the occasional high pitched scream or roar of an angry engine slipped through their efforts.
She kissed her fingers and touched them gently to Kader’s forehead, then slipped from the room. She made sure the security alarm was on, and then, she jogged down the street.
She pulled her cell from her pocket and punched in a number.
“Hello?”
“Logan, it’s Rune.”
“Rune, do you know what time it is?”
“Yeah.”
Logan sighed. “What can I do for you?”
“I need you to call Forsythe and get me an appointment with one of the wardens.”
“They won’t want—”
“You’re with the Annex,” Rune interrupted. “Convince them. I just want to ask a few questions.”
“I’ll let you know.”
Then Rune hung up and immediately called another number.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Still in Wormwood.”
“I’ll be at the main entrance in five minutes.”
He said nothing, and she disconnected the call.
She slid her phone into her pocket and then, she began to run all the way back to Wormwood.
There was someone there she needed to bite.
Chapter Twenty-One
“What do you need?” Will Blackthorne asked.
“To feed.”
His quickly indrawn breath was telling, but he did not move. “I have nothing for you.”
She shrugged and leaned against the gates of Wormwood. “I didn’t ask.”
He looked at her.
She felt that look like a physical touch as it scraped its way over her face, down her body, and back up again.
She shivered, just slightly, and straightened.
And for thirty seconds, they simply stared at each other.
Finally, she swallowed past the dryness in her throat. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Why are you offering?”
“I need your blood. You need my bite.”
He didn’t move. “You live with two donors.”
She put her hands on her hips. “They were asleep. Do you want me to take care of your fucking addiction, or not?”
He walked toward her, slowly, and didn’t stop until his body was almost touching hers. “What I don’t want is your pity.”
She turned up her lip. “I don’t pity you, Assassin. Not even a little bit.”
He was so tightly wound he almost vibrated. He wanted her bite. But he hated so much that he needed it. “I should kill you for getting me addicted.”
“You already tried to kill me,” she said. “It didn’t work then, and it won’t work now.”
But they both knew the last thing on his mind was killing her.
He shuddered. “Fucking…fucking bitch.”
She laughed.
He grabbed her by the throat, his movements so fast and unexpected that she was caught off guard. But the assassin wouldn’t hurt her.
Would he?
And why did she think he wouldn’t?
“Shit,” she whispered. Without even realizing it, she had begun to trust Will Blackthorne. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist.
Neither one of them said anything. His grip on her throat eased, but she had to force herself to loosen her grip on his wrist.
She was breathing hard, too fast, and she gave a long, slow blink and forced herself to calm down. It was the assassin.
Not a big deal.
For a long, long moment, he stared down at her, only his eyes and lips visible.
There’s nothing else in my brain. Nothing but you.
His long ago words echoed in her mind. The image of him, standing before her with his shirt off, baring his awful, horrible scars…
Did she pity him?
Maybe she pitied him as much as he hated her.
You must fuck the assassin.
She groaned.
He dropped to his knees. “Fuck you, Rune Alexander.”
His voice was hoarse and hollow and full of the devil and all she wanted to do was taste him.
She dropped her fangs.
She grabbed the edge of his mask and rolled it up, just enough to get access to his neck. And she didn’t hesitate.
It was the first time she hadn’t made him trade something valuable in return for the bite he craved.
And it was the first time she didn’t fucking hesitate.
His blood, sweet and hot and enigmatic, burst into her mouth with a rush of flavor and heat. And she felt its effects instantly.
She’d almost forgotten what it was like to enjoy the blood. The feeding.
The life.
And she didn’t want to stop.
His breath whooshed out of him and if he breathed again after that, she didn’t hear it. His shoulders were warm and hard beneath her fingertips, shoulders that were ridged with cruel scars.
His blood was so fucking good. So good she did not want to stop.
But she was draining him, and she didn’t want him dead.
Not anymore.
She pulled reluctantly away and with a dart of her tongue, licked the wound closed.
Perhaps that surprised him more than it did her.
He grabbed onto her arms and pulled himself to his feet.
Behind him, standing in
the shadows of the gate, stood Gunnar. He stood with a stillness and silence so complete it was almost as though he wasn’t there.
But he was, and he watched.
She shook her head, high on blood and dazed with feelings she refused to have. Almost ashamed, she fled the graveyard.
She ran.
Faster than the wind, she ran.
But the wind whipped her hair and slapped her face, laughing cruelly as she tried to outrun her softness.
She wasn’t as hard and cold as she wanted—needed—to be.
If she had been, she wouldn’t have offered Will Blackthorne a freebie. She wouldn’t have been glad to ease his suffering.
She knew that when she fed him, his past disappeared. There were no scars, no pain, no haunting echoes of past torture and horror.
There was just the bite.
And she’d wanted to give him that peace.
“Fuck me,” she whispered, slowing as she neared home. “Fuck me.”
After she arrived home, she walked straight to her bed and fell across it.
She slept.
What felt like five minutes later she struggled awake, covered in sweat, her heart pounding.
“Fuck.” She sat up, rubbing her face. She grabbed the warm bottle of warm water on her nightstand. “Fuck.”
Ellis stuck his head through the doorway. “Bad dreams?”
“Yeah. You could say that.”
“Go back to sleep, honey.”
She cleared her throat. “I’m up. Feel like shit, but I’m up.”
“You have to start getting more rest, Rune.”
“I’ll rest when I’m dead, baby.”
“That might mean something if you could actually die,” he grumbled.
She grinned. “Do I smell coffee?”
“Of course you do. I’ll make some breakfast to go along with it.” He withdrew, pulling her door shut behind him.
She jumped into the shower, not waiting for the water to warm. As its iciness beat upon her back she leaned her forehead against the wall and allowed herself to think about what had really gotten her out of bed.
Her dreams had been vivid and full of the berserker, and once she’d wrestled her way to consciousness, she hadn’t dared take a chance on falling back to sleep only to find him there once again, waiting.
Endlessly, patiently waiting.
She was terrified he’d be waiting there forever.
