Marroc
I threw myself again and again at the bars of my cell.
The curse burned wildly within me. Infernally hot, it scalded my bones, seared the muscles of my heart. Every nerve ending screamed for me to stop, but I ignored the pain. It couldn’t kill me. Not when I was already dead.
I’d seen it happen. The king’s daughter had sliced my ring from the Night Elf’s finger. And now, I knew what they had planned.
They were about to make a terrible mistake.
So far, I was breaking my body more than the bars. Hot ichor poured from my shoulder, smoking with the curse. But I blocked out the pain, desperate to get to her. No matter what it did to me, I had to break through. My soul depended on it.
My lungs heaved as I threw myself across the cell with all my strength. At last, with a great crack, the bars broke free from their moorings, crashing to the stone floor so hard that the walls shook. I leapt over them, rushing down the hallway like a storm wind.
I knew my way around the place, exactly how to find the stairs that would lead me up to the amphitheater, and I slipped into a narrow spiral stairwell. Inwardly, I cursed the people who’d built this tower a thousand feet high. A wildly impractical testament to ego.
I was taking the stairs two at a time, flying through the darkness. Lucky for me, I no longer felt fatigue, or my muscles burning. I hadn’t felt that for eons; I could run forever.
I knew there was only one place they could have taken the Night Elf.
As I ascended, I didn’t pause to savor my freedom. There was only one thing on my mind—getting my soul back. In all the time I’d been locked in here, I had never had a reason to break free. Now, it was everything.
No, maybe there were two things driving me. That dull ember in me wanted to keep her safe, too. Even through my curse, the mating bond glowed.
I rushed up the stairs, smoky shadows whipped around me, concealing me. It didn’t matter, though. No one was around. They were probably all in the stone seats above, salivating over the thought of watching the death of a Night Elf. Rubbing their hands together with glee at her demise.
Anger coiled through me, and I moved even faster, desperate. Was I too late? This place had too many stairs by about a thousand.
If she died, would I feel it?
At last, at the very top of the tower, I slammed through a wooden door, onto the curving walkway that surrounded the amphitheater.
In the shadows above all the others, I stared out over the crowded stone seats. The last time I was here, I’d lost my soul.
This time, I intended to regain it.
Chapter 9
Ali
I stared down at the chasm, certain that I was looking into the Well of Wyrd itself.
The well was one of the few earthly portals to Yggdrasill, the great cosmic tree that bound our world with other realms: those of the elves, the giants, the dwarves, and so on. Only a couple feet of granite and a few inches of stone lip separated me from oblivion.
To fall into the Well of Wyrd would be to fall into an endless void. Eternal isolation. Certain death. Panic slid over my mind. Now would be a good time for an escape.
“Skalei!” The dagger appeared tight in my grip.
Revna raised her wand, readying another freezing spell. But this time, I was ready. As the hex hissed toward me, I ducked, jerking hard on my rope. Now it was enough of a surprise that the guard wasn’t ready, and he stumbled right into the path of the hex.
The spell hit him in the center of his back, and instantly, his body went rigid, hands unclenching from the rope. For a moment, he teetered on the brink of the well, his features fixed in an expression of pure terror. Then he tipped over the edge and disappeared into the depths, silent as the night.
But Revna wasn’t silent. No, she was screaming, trying to charge her wand.
And I was free. Already, I’d flipped Skalei around to slice through the ropes on my wrists. Its magical blade cut through them like a hot knife through butter. All around, the crowd began to shout. Were they scared of me?
Revna certainly was. She was backing away from me, heading for the stairs. I followed after her. I wasn’t sure what I planned, but I did want to take one of her fingers.
But at the bottom of the stairs, I froze. Someone new had arrived—at the top of the amphitheater. There stood the shadowy prisoner, silhouetted against the moon. Ah, so that was why they were terrified.
Thick black smoke rose from his body and a low, primal moan emanated from his chest, rumbling over the stone. Screams erupted around us, and the High Elves began surging away from him. Revna ran toward her father. King Gorm drew his wand.
And yet the prisoner’s eyes were on me. With magic curling around his beautiful face, he began to move down the steps of the amphitheater. He seemed to be coming for me. Another person who wanted me dead, I thought. I had no idea what he was, only that he scared the living shit out of everyone around me, so I’d best keep my distance.
“Everyone stop moving,” King Gorm shouted. “Revna, show him the ring!”
Realization flashed across Revna’s face. Dropping her wand, she held up the bloody ring.
“Marroc!” shouted the king. “We have your soul. Another step, and you’ll be cursed forever.”
The prisoner stopped where he was, midway down the steps. Black magic coiled off him as he stared at King Gorm, his eyes now dark as the Well of Wyrd. He didn’t speak, and I had no idea what he wanted… but he seemed intent on me.
It was as if the whole Citadel held its breath, waiting to see what would happen next. No one moved—except me. While they were all staring at the prisoner, I was slipping off my boot. The vergr crystal lay inside it.
Then, silently, the prisoner started moving down the steps once more.
“I’ll end this now!” Revna spun and hurled the ring into the Well of Wyrd.
It twirled in the air, gleaming in the moonlight, then plunged into the darkness.
The prisoner was nearly upon me when I reared back and threw my boot with all my might, aiming for the far side of the well. I had good aim and a strong arm, and it landed in the stone seats opposite us.
“Fara!”
A flash of purple light, and I exploded out of my own boot on the far side of the well, bits of shoe leather raining around me. The vergr crystal lay at my feet, and I snatched it up.
In the seats all around the amphitheater, chaos reigned. Around me, High Elves streamed up the stairs, oblivious to my presence, focused only on getting as far from the prisoner as possible. I turned back to look at him—towering over the others like a god of darkness. He picked up a High Elf and threw him into the Well of Wyrd. Then his dark eyes were on me again.
I whirled, racing up the steps of the amphitheater, trailing behind the others. My thighs burned, lungs heaving as I chased the throng of High Elves. No one was looking at me. They were all running for their lives, and I was at the back of the crowd.
What the fuck was that guy?
By the time I reached the top of the stairs, my bootless right foot was frozen. But I kept running, turning onto the curving stone walkway. At this point, I was just following the others, racing behind them. I kicked my remaining boot off and ran in my socks, which was cold as shit but less awkward for running.
I was sprinting so fast that I nearly missed the shadow of a moth passing over me. I glanced up just in time to see its rider launch a hex at my head. Diving to the side, I took shelter behind a parapet for a moment. When the spell bounced off the stone, I leapt to my feet again.
The elves ahead of me were running for a door in one of the spires, holding it open for each other. I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d do when I got inside, but maybe I’d blend into the chaos, make my escape from the lower floors.
But just as I reached the door, it slammed shut before me. My heart sank as I heard a bolt sliding across.
With my pulse racing out of control, I pulled on the door’s handle. Locked up tight.
Could I use t
he vergr crystal here? I turned, heaving for breath as I peered over the walkway. Clouds puffed around me, and the lights of Boston glimmered welcomingly a thousand feet below.
It was just as I’d thought—far too high to toss the crystal. A vergr crystal might allow me to travel any distance in an instant, but the crystal itself wasn’t indestructible. While fifty feet would hardly scratch it, a thousand-foot drop would shatter it to smithereens.
Sadly, traveling to a fragmented crystal was a very bad idea. It meant your body would reappear in the same number of pieces as there were fragments of crystal, which was… not ideal.
A shadow swept over me again, and I glanced up at the moth-mounted elf. As he circled above me, swooping lower, my heart hammered against my ribs. I was running out of options fast. Any moment now and that elf’s wand would be recharged.
I had to find another way out of the Citadel, because I was deep in enemy territory.
But when I turned back in the other direction, my stomach fell.
The prisoner was racing for me, dark magic whirling around him. He moved like a phantom—no sound coming from him, shadows coiling off him.
A line of guards trailed behind him even as his gaze bored into me. I could almost smell the High Elves’ fear in the air. They were shooting bolts of magic at him, but none seemed to hurt him.
What could I do now? I had no choice but to fight, even if he seemed to scare the crap out of everyone. I gripped Skalei, my legs shaking a little as the prisoner raced along the walkway. I was nimble from my years of assassin training, but he was much, much bigger than me.
I widened my stance, ready as I’d ever be. And as he reached me, I sprang forward. My blade plunged into the center of his chest.
Unfortunately, it didn’t slow him down a bit. He wrapped his arms around me, then pushed me to ground under him.
The guards were pelting us with hexes now. The air was ablaze with magic, and I could hear the spells hissing and sizzling all around me. Yet, somehow, none hit me. I opened my eyes, daring to look up at this monster.
He crouched over me, shielding me with his massive body. My dagger still protruded from his chest, and the skin on his neck looked burned. So, the hexes had hit him, and yet somehow he was still alive.
The darkness in his eyes faded to ice blue. He pulled Skalei from his chest and tossed it away. Beneath all the dark magic, the man was as beautiful as a god. My breath caught as I looked up at him; I struggled to think of what I needed to do next.
Before I could say a word, he wrapped a powerful arm beneath me and pulled me to him—tight. I was crushed against his iron chest.
As I struggled to break free from him, he lifted me up. The wind whipped over me, and panic climbed up my throat as he leapt on top of the battlements.
Was he going to jump? I screamed into his chest, frantic to break free. But he was far too strong for me, his grip like steel.
I looked down at the earth as he leapt off the parapet. For a moment, time seemed to slow down. We hung suspended a thousand feet above Boston.
Then, like a meteor, we began to plummet.
Chapter 10
Marroc
We ripped through the sky, a falling star against the darkness of night. And yet even as we plummeted, I felt something I hadn’t experienced in a thousand years: ecstasy.
The wind whipped over us. My soul wasn’t at the bottom of the Well of Wyrd with the ring—it was inside Ali.
For the first time in a millennium, I could feel it, its power warm within her chest. And with that warmth, the memories of everything I’d forgotten while in prison: sunlight on my face, the gentle breeze through rowan trees. The scent of roses. Now, I could remember the calls of the ravens I’d once kept in my castle, each of them named for a god… That had been before Ragnarok, before the gods had died.
Trapped in a dark prison cell, I’d forgotten the beauty of the world entirely. I’d forgotten how it felt to kiss a woman, and the sweet taste of lingonberry wine—
“What the fuck! What the fuck was that!”
My mate’s screams interrupted the glorious peace of my thoughts. Her voice tore through the night sky like a killing hex.
Did she not understand that the guards were going to kill her? That I’d saved her life?
With the curse stealing my voice, I could do nothing to calm her nerves. Her shrieks were grating, like a sword scraping against the inside of my skull. In my cell, I’d grown used to silence. Why couldn’t I experience this reunion with my soul in peace?
For the love of the gods, was my mate really this loud?
I tuned her voice out, focusing again on the warmth of my soul as we fell. And yet I still wasn’t whole. My soul still wasn’t in my chest.
Sadly, it had ended up in the body of this shrieking Night Elf. Had fate, had Wyrd really tied me to a burglar like this one? Perhaps fate was punishing me.
And yet perhaps her screaming, given these circumstances, was normal. Trapped in isolation for a thousand years, I thought I’d completely lost my mind. I’d forgotten entirely what it was like to feel anything.
It was hard for me to remember normality or what it meant to feel fear. With my soul so close to me, I was catching glimpses of what it meant to be alive, but I couldn’t experience it completely. I remembered feeling something like fear…
It was only at this point that it flickered into my mind again—that idea of mortality. The distant memory that when you were alive, death was something to be avoided. The little Night Elf in my arms was terrified because she would not survive this fall, and what the Helheim had I been thinking? I had lost my mind.
Worst of all, with my soul now trapped in her body, her death would mean mine as well.
Now, for the first time in a thousand years, I felt it: fear, cold and sharp, like ice exploding in my chest.
My hand whipped out, and I grabbed on to the only thing available to me—a gargoyle’s head. Our momentum nearly ripped my arm out of its socket, but I managed to hold on. The problem was that the masonry holding up the gargoyle was cracking, its leering face tilting further down toward the ground. Bits of cement flaked into the air as the masonry crumbled, and the Night Elf’s screams rang in my ears.
I had no magic to speak of, only sheer physical strength.
And any moment now, we’d be falling again. She would die.
Chapter 11
Ali
I could hardly breathe. That had been the most terrifying few seconds of my life, but somehow, the prisoner hardly seemed fazed.
With one hand, the prisoner pressed me to his muscled chest. With the other, he gripped a gargoyle, which was about to rip from the wall. My heart slammed hard against my ribs as I tried to think clearly. We needed something that would grip the stones, something to stop us from splattering across Boston’s streets.
“Skalei.” In a moment, the dagger was in my hand again.
Reaching over the prisoner’s shoulder, I stabbed the side of the wall, plunging the blade into the cement between the blocks of marble.
But too late. The gargoyle’s neck ripped out, and I lost my grip on the hilt. For a split second, we were falling to our deaths again.
Then, like a viper from beneath a rock, the stranger’s arm snatched the dagger’s hilt, nearly dropping me in the process. I clamped my arms tight around his neck, and for the first time realized I’d tightened my legs around his waist as well.
We were sliding down the wall now, the dagger cutting through the stone. Marble debris cascaded everywhere, but at least our descent was much slower than falling freely through space.
Beneath my panic, though, part of me was already thinking about the amazing story this would make when I told Barthol about it later.
I glanced up at the blade as it carved a straight line down the wall. At least he’d understood what to do with it. He wasn’t completely insane, even if he couldn’t speak and had leapt off the side of a tower.
I looked down and watched as the earth rushe
d toward us, not a hundred feet away now. As the dagger slid through the stone, we picked up speed, frigid air rushing over us.
This was one of the few moments I wished that Skalei’s blade wasn’t quite so magical—on one hand, granite was too strong for her, but on the other, she sliced through marble like it was butter. The ground was rushing for me now, only twenty feet away, ten feet—
BOOM!
We slammed into the earth, and I lost my grip on the stranger. For a moment, I lay flat on my back, catching my breath. Then, slowly, I moved my limbs. Pain radiated from my spine, but I didn’t think I’d broken anything.
I pushed myself up. When I looked around, I noticed grave markers jutting out of snow. We’d fallen into a cemetery, and if I hadn’t had Skalei, I might have plummeted right into my own grave.
Ancient tombstones sprouted from the ground around me like giants’ teeth. Above my head, the boughs of an elm reached into the night sky, frozen and twisted like gnarled fingers. An ancient stone chapel—built by humans—lay in ruins.
In a whorl of darkness, the prisoner rose before me like a ghost. The shadows in his eyes had faded, leaving behind clear blue.
He took a step closer to me, movements smooth and unnerving. Though he shifted like a phantom, his body had been solid as the Citadel walls. Despite his strangeness, there was something oddly seductive in his movements, in the way he moved so assuredly. And his magic… that dark, smoky magic caressed my skin, warm and sensual.
Beneath the shadows, I caught glimpses of tattered gray clothes, threadbare over a muscled physique. Fiery runes glowed on the body of a warrior. The wind whipped at his dark hair. When I looked down, I realized he was barefoot. He must have been freezing, but he didn’t seem bothered at all.
I looked down at the vergr stone in my left hand, my stomach churning at the sight of my missing finger. My mouth felt watery, like I was about to throw up.
Cursed Prince (Night Elves Trilogy Book 1) Page 4
