Emotion. Raw emotion, undiluted, and as powerful as all hell.
Matrexia stares at me. She lets her hands drop. She opens her mouth.
But then the both of us jerk our heads to the side.
I don’t need to ask her what’s going on.
I pick up a slight vibration as if a door has been opened further into the building. Though it would be easy to assume that it’s just another member of Spencer’s staff, the tingles that race down the imprinting symbol in my shoulder tell me it’s not.
He’s back.
I have time to turn and stare at her. She makes eye contact. Then she shifts past, reaches the door, and walks out.
Me? I die a little inside.
I have no idea if she’s on his side or mine, or she’s on a side all of her own.
It doesn’t matter.
I’m about to find out.
Chapter 6
I hear racing footfall as soon as we reach the corridor, and several seconds later, Spencer throws himself around a turn in the hall. He comes to a skidding halt, clamps his hands on his knees, and lets out a breath of relief. “You’re here.”
So he was suspicious of me, ha?
Though he tries to hide that as he smooths a smile over his face, it’s damn obvious.
“Where else would I be? Did you expect us to arrive in a different room?” I ask innocently, deliberately controlling my tone so it’s free from any suspicion whatsoever.
At the same time, I never tear my gaze off Matrexia.
She’s standing half a meter away, her arms resting loosely by her sides, her expression completely blank. She’s gone from looking like a broken woman who was twisted by the death of her king and the things she’s had to do in this brutal game, to looking like nothing more than a picture painted over reality.
But I know the truth, and my heart still pounds with it.
What is she going to do? What decision is she going to make? Is she going to trust him or me? Or is she going to hold onto my secret until the last moment, until it will hurt me the most?
I’ve been in some pretty dicey situations before, but most of those have come down to magic, action, and grit.
This?
It’s intrigue. It’s secrets. And I’m not built for that.
Still, I manage to stop my hands from shaking and the sweat from slicking my brow as I take another confused step toward Spencer. “Which room was I meant to arrive in?” I ask once more.
He brings his hands up and shrugs expressively. “It doesn’t matter. I was simply worried about you, that’s all. I was concerned that bastard might have sent a charge of magic along with the warp spell, and you might’ve been injured,” he says as he takes a step toward me.
He turns on that mode again – the tender-Spencer mode. The one where I’m meant to melt into his arms. That dumbass smile spreads across his lips as he brings up a hand, goes to wipe the hair from my face, but then stops.
And I don’t know why.
I know I’m controlling my expression. Though I want to kick him in the shins, I don’t let that show.
He lets his hand drop, clears his throat, takes a step back, and turns.
“What—” I begin.
I hear swift footfall, and the next thing I know, Michael walks into sight.
He locks his gaze on me.
And there it is – his undiluted suspicion.
It takes me a moment, then I remember. He saw the hope that infiltrated my eyes, that widened my lips, that brightened my entire face. The hope I showed when John appeared.
He clears his throat, swallows, slows down, and walks up to Spencer.
Though he looks at Spencer, I can tell he’s paying utmost attention to me in his peripheral vision.
First there’s the fact of not knowing what Matrexia is going to do, now I’ve got Michael to add to this horror.
Inside, I’m crumbling. Outside? I keep my footing and my smile. “What’s going on?”
“Are they secured?” Spencer asks, his voice quick.
Michael nods.
My heart explodes. I swear it pops in my chest. There’s only one thing they could be talking about.
Though I shake to ask which pieces they’ve captured, I don’t.
I stand there.
And it’s the greatest torture of my life.
At the same time, I’m aware of the fact that Matrexia is staring at me out of the corner of her eye.
I’m not stupid enough to make eye contact.
Michael is being hypervigilant.
I… didn’t think it would be this hard. Which is stupid, right? Destroying a game that has been a blight on humanity for hundreds upon hundreds of years was never going to be easy. If it was easy, someone else would’ve done it.
And yet, I never envisioned this.
It’s utter torture.
I don’t know if I’m winning or I’m losing. For some reason, that seems to be a metaphor for the game itself. No matter how much power you get, nothing comes easy. Even if you win more boards and gain more pieces like Senator Rogers had, you’re never safe. You’re always standing on the exact same precipice. With more power comes greed and more people who want to take what you have.
Spencer mutters something to Michael under his breath, and I don’t quite catch it, even though I peel my hearing.
I’m losing it.
“Is he secured?” Spencer whispers.
Michael looks right at me. “Yes. We are ready to begin the ceremony.”
I can’t take it anymore.
I push a hand around my back and clamp it into a fist. I’m facing Michael and Spencer, but I’m standing a little off center, so they can’t see my muscular tension. But Matrexia can.
There’s no point in hiding it from her.
She knows where my true loyalties lie.
If she’s about to tell Spencer, I’m screwed anyway. But I still have to clutch a hand into a fist, because if I don’t, I’m going to die on the spot.
Fear owns me. It starts in my heart, spreads through my chest, races up into my mouth, plunges down my back, and sinks into every single muscle. It penetrates them as if it will never leave. It strips away all of the hope, all of the joy, all of the heat – every single memory of every single pleasant sensation I’ve ever had until I’m nothing more than terror.
I open my mouth and almost whisper his name.
John.
Finally Spencer turns and stares at me. There’s a flicker in his eyes, and I know what it is. I’ve always known what it is with Spencer. Though he vacillates from looking like a scared little boy to looking like a triumphant idiot, somewhere under the surface is something else. The cruel bastard. The guy who has survived, no matter how many people have gone after him, because, at the end of the day, he knows just who to sacrifice to keep on living.
He takes a step toward me, and this time he brings up his hands and settles them on my shoulders.
There’s a real weight to his grip.
I’m not sure if he’s using more strength on me, or if I’m buckling under the pressure of the situation. Or maybe it’s both.
His thumbs hook in underneath my collar and press hard into my flesh.
There’s heat. But it’s not the inviting kind of heat that John’s flesh has. It’s far more biting, far more penetrating. The kind of heat that will gladly burn through anything to get what it wants.
He opens his mouth, but before he can say a word, he lets his right hand slip down my shoulder and clasp over that point on my arm where my imprinting symbol is.
Though I’m wearing my ubiquitous leather jacket, that doesn’t appear to matter, because as his fingers press in, they seem to bypass the fabric and reach right down until they clamp against my flesh.
I straighten as jolts of pure desire slam through me.
Though I’ve spent so long telling myself that I know how to control this imprinting process, suddenly, it’s alive with some new force. From his expression, to his gaze, to the
way he’s holding himself – to, most importantly, the way he’s holding me – it’s like I’m facing a different man.
I used to accuse Spencer of being a kid who had the idiotic belief that the world would simply work out regardless of what he did. He wouldn’t plan, because he was too stupid to do that.
Now it’s as if I’m looking at a completely different man.
The same man I first saw in John’s tower. The same man who thrilled and yet terrified me. The same man who kissed me in his car.
And the same man who now literally holds my destiny in his hands.
He lets his hand sink even further against the leather of my jacket until he really grinds his fingers in.
It’s such a damn tantalizing move, and it’s matched by the look in his eyes.
Though he usually modulates his desire around me – and though he usually says and does the kinds of things that turn me right off – now it’s different.
Have I always been attracted to powerful men?
No.
Before I was sucked into this world, my tastes were pretty ordinary. I’d liked genuine guys, kind guys, guys who weren’t fake. I hadn’t gone for the $50,000 suits, sports cars, and towers.
And yet, I can… see the allure.
And maybe it gives an insight into Matrexia.
Yes, queens are the most powerful pieces, but they’re also the most vulnerable. They need a strong king to keep them safe, right?
It’s clear that the king Matrexia decided to die for was just that – a strong king.
Me? I never wanted a strong king. I hadn’t wanted a king at all.
But… I can see the allure.
I want to stop myself from shivering. I want to stop myself from showing any desire, but I know my pupils dilate. And I know he sees it.
He keeps his hands clamped on my shoulders as he leans in. Though we have witnesses, that doesn’t stop him from resting his head alongside my shoulder as he whispers into my ear. “We’re close now, my queen,” he says. And though I’ve hated-on him for calling me my dear so many times, this is different. The way his voice drops down on the word queen, the way it shakes, the sheer power in it – it all calls to me. It’s not pathetic; it’s powerful. I hate and yet love it at the same time.
I should be losing it. I know this is the imprinting process on fast forward.
And I know that I can’t fight it.
“We’re so close. I have John,” he says. “We’ll go through the ceremony. We will turn him into an eater. We are right now capturing the last of his pieces. We have the board. You secured the ancient site. We have everything.” At that, he shifts back and looks right into my eyes. He’s close – only about 20 centimeters away. He’s looking right at me, and every time he breathes, the warm air buffets against my cheeks, sending my fringe darting across my eyes.
I don’t shove him off. I can’t think, let alone move.
Because he’s right.
We’re so close. Not just physically, but temporally. The end is just within reach.
“Just a few more hours and it will all be ours.” With that, Spencer leans in and kisses me.
Me?
Do I kiss him back? Do I give in to the sheer power of the imprinting process and my desire for him?
Or do I throw my mind into the fact that John has been captured? That soon he will be killed and turned into an abomination?
Neither.
I close my eyes.
I get ready for the fight.
Chapter 7
What happens next happens quickly.
I can feel Spencer’s greed. I swear the entire building is responding to it. And hey, maybe that isn’t as crazy as it sounds, because this is the magical headquarters of a king.
If there’s one thing I can be thankful for, Matrexia hasn’t acted. Yet. And neither has Michael.
Both are watching me, though. As we stride through the halls and enter the room where Spencer will cast the final rite, they’re both a meter behind me. I can feel their combined glares like a laser powering into the back of my neck.
You’d think I’d be a complete mess – like I was in the corridor when Spencer appeared.
I am. And yet, I’m something else at the same time. I’m not determined. It’s gone beyond that now. I won’t call it surrender, either. Though maybe it’s a little of that, too.
It’s like I’m staring at my body from some detached perspective. It’s like the fear and torture of every second can’t quite reach me.
The reason they can’t quite reach me is this. In several hours or so, the situation will be over.
For better or worse, my fate and the fates of all others will be sealed.
That gives me… perspective.
I won’t tell you that it saps my heart, turning me into a living, breathing husk who’s simply waiting for the end. I will tell you this: it gives me insight.
I don’t know which king Matrexia died for, but I can appreciate that the day she decided to die for him, she would’ve felt this, too. This sense of pure inevitability. The sense that she was being dragged along somebody else’s path.
That instantly reminds me of the magical light I saw in my mind when Matrexia forced me to cast that warp spell.
It’s important, somehow. It’s key, in fact.
It seems to connect to my theory that at the heart of the game is a parasite that’s constructed the game so it can feed off all the magical energies within.
If magical practitioners weren’t constrained by the game, who knows what they could do? For good or ill, for themselves or others.
But while the game exists and its rules control others, all those trapped within it exist only for one purpose. To survive.
Why am I telling you this again?
Because that magical path has something to do with the game. I… I know this sounds crazy, but what if it’s somehow the embodiment of the rules? What if that path of light is somehow the spell that binds us all to the game?
If I close my eyes long enough, I can remember the exact expression that Matrexia shot me when she told me that it will be impossible to destroy the game.
And yet if I squeeze my eyes even harder, I can remember my response. My heartfelt, true response. I know that nature abhors this game, and I know that there must be some way within nature to destroy it.
If a queen is uniquely capable of learning from nature, then I am uniquely capable of finding that way.
I just have to search.
But now is no time to search.
Spencer is standing in the middle of the room, his hands clasped behind his back, his head held up high.
He is a changed man. Gone is every single scrap of pathetic weakness. In its place is pure power.
I should be surprised that a man like him could make such an abrupt turn in such a short amount of time.
But I can appreciate two things. He thinks he’s won, and I’ve always used my hatred for him as a defense against my desire.
And as for that desire?
It’s still there. Simmering under the surface, just waiting to catch into a boil.
Do I give into it? Hell no. But at the same time, do I push it away?
Hell no.
Once upon a time, all I had to do was concentrate on John in order to put my feelings for Spencer into perspective. Now it’s not that easy. It should be easy. John’s been captured, and my heart is going out to him. It’s practically vibrating in fear for him.
But is that enough to cut through the imprinting process?
No.
Everything is coming to a head. And I can’t forget one thing. Back when I destroyed Spencer’s first eater, and he met me on the roof, he told me one thing. Not all queens and kings have the same compatibility. The more passion between them – the more energy that transfers through the imprinting process – the more they’re meant for each other. If a king can match up with a queen he has a strong connection with, they will be more powerful.
I’ve bee
n dancing away from that prospect. I’ve been trying to push it away. With all my might. Since the damn day I met Spencer. But there’s now one thing I can’t ignore. I have more of an imprinting connection to Spencer. I’m aware of him more. And, most importantly, so too is my body. His mere touch can change my mood. The press of his hot lips against mine can completely wipe away the rest of my thoughts.
… So it’s stronger with him than it is with John, right?
And according to Spencer, that means that I’m meant for him, right?
Wrong.
As I watch Spencer continue to walk around the room like an architect imagining what he can build, I close my eyes.
I need to turn my mind to how I’m going to destroy the game, and in doing so, I need to open up to the fact that Spencer is right. I’m more powerful with him than I am with John.
Is that an admission that I love Spencer? Is that a promise that I will protect him and that I will forget my desire to destroy the game forever?
No.
It’s acceptance.
Crappy romantic movies will tell you to go with your heart. If you have a strong physical desire for somebody, give into it. It means you’re meant for them, right?
In the real world, you need to go with your mind. Yeah, your heart gets a say, but your head has to agree.
There’s a difference between humans and animals. Animals are driven by pheromones, by biology – by something they can’t control.
Humans?
Get to fight the path that was handed to them by their biology.
And maybe, deep down, my magic wants me to get together with Spencer. But my mind?
Has chosen another.
From the day I entered this game, I didn’t want to be a queen. I didn’t want to join with some king and let him own me. I wanted to chart my own path. And this is me charting my own path.
This is me recognizing I might have some biological imperative to get together with Spencer, but I can ignore it.
I know what the game wants. It wants me to give in to the imprinting process. The game is not going to get that.
And yet, I will still follow that path. In my mind. The light. The rules of the game. I’ll use my spirit-connection with Spencer. And I’ll destroy everything.
The Last Queen Book Five Page 10
