by Bella Jacobs
Pulse racing in my throat, I reverse course, stumbling backward, only to jerk to a stop as my gut sends out a warning signal. I glance over my shoulder, stomach dropping as I spot a green glow closing in from farther up the tunnel. I can’t see the source of the light yet, but I know that I don’t want to.
Just like I know that I’m doomed to relive this walk, again and again, every night until I’m too weak to rise from my dream bed. It’s all so clear now—the reason Atlas doesn’t seem to consider me a threat is because I’m not a threat.
I’m not even awake.
I’m still back in the hole where he left me, dreaming myself to death.
“Wake up, Wren, please,” I hiss to myself, squeezing my eyes shut and reaching into the recesses of my brain as Atlas laughs.
When he speaks again, his voice is closer. “Don’t fret, sweet girl. I’ll take you back to bed, pull all these ugly memories from your pretty head, and we can wake up and do it all again tomorrow. I’m enjoying myself so much. The dragon and I have a bet going, you know. To see if you’ll ever make it all the way to the stables.”
The word pricks at my brain like a knife stabbed into a bag of sand, sending memories spilling out.
If I can make it to the stables, there’s a way out in the ceiling. He’s told me that before, smug in the knowledge that I won’t recall the information from night to night. But I do remember, and I remember something else, too.
Fingers balling into fists, I take off at a sprint, racing toward the sound of Atlas’s voice, jaw clenched and foot itching. I round the corner, a soft cry of victory escaping from my lips.
It isn’t Atlas there, at all. He was so certain that I wouldn’t remember that he sent his emissary again.
The tiny, bearded creature with green skin and wide, lidless eyes is distantly related to trolls, but I don’t remember what it’s called. I only know that it’s a simple beast that can serve as the mouthpiece for another person, and that it’s meaner than it looks. Its lips peel back, revealing razor sharp teeth, but I don’t give it a chance to bite me this time.
I kick him hard in the belly, sending him flying into the air with a grunt as I race past. Behind me, the air erupts with ragged whinnies and snorts, then the sound of hooves thundering on the ground, shaking the walls.
I push faster, chest heaving and arms pumping hard at my sides, but I’m not fast enough. I can feel the monsters getting closer. I try to shift, to grow bird wings and a tiny, quiet heart they won’t be able to hear, but the call shivers over my skin with no effect.
My thoughts race and panic scrabbles in my belly, but I cut the strings on every desperate thought balloon, sending them soaring into the air away from me. Like water, I can only see what’s beneath my thoughts if the surface is calm.
I squint into the silvery blue of my subconscious and see…
Creedence. The actual Cree, not the dream locked away in a dungeon. His face is smeared with black and his golden eyes are haunted, but he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
He’s real. And I can be real again, too, if I can just…
The monsters scream behind me, but I tune them out, ears straining to understand. Cree’s lips are moving, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. I can only make out a word here and there—“me” and “reach” and “fight.”
I want to reach him. I’m ready to fight, but I’m never going to make it to the stables, or the portal above them, before the green, moaning glow hunting me through the tunnels catches me.
And even if I make it to the passage, will it open? Will it take me to Cree or off to another dream?
I’ve tried running. I’ve tried diving through walls. I’ve tried lies and deception and fighting to solve this puzzle that Atlas makes me forget every night, but nothing works.
I can’t get free. I’m trapped.
Just like when I was a child…
Trapped by the people who killed my parents and stole me away from my home.
Trapped in a cage and separated from my sister while they infected us both with poison.
Trapped in a lie of sickness and robbed of my memories, of the love my parents had given me and the heritage of my people.
My heart swells with anger and grief, making it even harder to run, while the things behind me scream in hunger, anticipation.
There is nothing worse than a cage, than being locked away with no options, no free will, no hope for change. In a cage, even happiness starts to rot from the inside out. Everything must evolve, even joy, or it will wither and die.
The cage is my real nightmare, and my mind has become the cage.
It can only use what it finds inside you…
We carry the seeds of our own destruction…
Atlas’s words from the oubliette echo through my head, making my heart flutter with something like hope. And terror. And truth.
If I am very brave…
If I am very brave and very lucky…
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” I pant, grinding to a halt and spinning to face the creatures driving me deeper into the earth. Chin lifted and shoulders back, I uncurl my fisted hands. I relax my jaw and spread my arms wide.
As the green glow flares brighter, and a smell like old death and wet metal fills the air, I choose to be free. I choose to fly. I choose to see the illusion and look past it to the truth—that the world is what my thoughts make it.
And that no cage can hold me as long as my mind is free.
The screams and whinnies grow louder, wilder, but they’re shadows, and shadows can’t hold themselves together in the light.
I call fire, my first shifter form, from my bones and ignite, brighter than ever before, sending light blasting into the tunnel ahead of me.
I never see what it was that was chasing me. The moment whatever it is hits my glare, it explodes into a kaleidoscope of butterflies, bright green and yellow, wings beating madly, but sweetly, as they buffet my face and neck.
I close my eyes, focusing on the steady beat of my heart and the pulse of wings. I am free, and no one is ever going to cage me, not ever again.
Heart soaring and head clear, I thrust my arm into the air.
A moment later, someone grabs hold from the other side and pulls me up, out of the tunnels, leaving my cage behind.
Chapter 23
Wren
I come through gasping, coughing, laughing, weeping, and clinging to Creedence with every last bit of strength left in me. I’m filthy and thirsty and my stomach aches like I haven’t eaten in weeks, but I’m alive.
And so is he. And we’re both about to be free.
For real.
I can feel them, up above—Kite, Dust, and Luke close and getting closer with every passing second.
I cup Cree’s dirty, fungus-smeared face in my trembling hands and whisper in a voice scratchy with disuse, “I love you.”
“Love you, too,” he says, tears slipping down his cheeks to soak into my thumbs. “You look like hell, Slim.”
“You’re still pretty,” I say, grinning.
“Of course I am,” he says, lips curving. “What are we smiling about exactly?”
“We’re real. And we’re getting out of here.” I look up into the impenetrable dark, catching a scatter of staccato gunfire from somewhere on the other side.
“If our people win the gun fight up there.” Creedence swipes at my forehead with his hand. “And if whatever this shit is doesn’t kill us.”
“It already tried and failed.” I glance at the wooden door—the real one this time, the one that truly leads to Atlas’s castle—and narrow my eyes. I’m not beaten yet, not by a long shot.
I’ll be back for you, I promise silently as the gunshots grow louder, closer, and the lines connecting me to my mates’ pulse with renewed power.
Creedence wraps his arm around my shoulders, and we huddle close as the fight continues overhead. Then there’s a period of silence, followed by a sonic boom so loud the diseased walls shiver, letting
off puffs of dark black spores. Creedence grabs the front of my shirt and drags it up toward my mouth, but the fabric is already black with growth and so damp with old sweat it clings to my skin.
We both settle for hands slapped over our mouths and noses as we huddle closer to the door, the only relatively safe place in this hole. The boom comes again, and then more almost eerie calm. But it’s okay.
They’re coming. I can feel it.
“Think they’ll be freaked out that we’re half dead?” Cree asks.
“Better than all dead.” I rest my head on his shoulder.
He hums beneath his breath. “Much better, though I’d be more excited about it if I knew how—” He breaks off, tensing against me. “Do you hear that?”
I look up, searching the black tunnel above. “It’s like…really loud bees.”
“Or a lawnmower,” Cree murmurs.
“Baby helicopter?” My pulse speeds as the droning swells closer and a wind kicks up, sending more spores swirling into the air.
“You may have something there, darlin’.” Cree squints into the sudden glare as a shaft of light blares down on us from above. A moment later, a heartbreakingly familiar voice crackles over a loudspeaker, “We’re sending down one hazmat unit. We assume you two lovebirds won’t mind sharing?”
Dust. It’s Dust! He’s here.
I nod hard, my smile splitting my face and the backs of my eyes aching. If I had any liquid left in my body, I’d be weeping with relief. With joy. Dust is here and Creedence and I are finally going to see the sunlight again.
This is real, I’m sure of it.
But still…
Just to be safe…
I glance down at my hand, dragging a jagged nail along the back, just below my knuckles. It takes a few tries, pressing hard over the same inch of flesh five, six, seven times, but eventually I break the surface, blood seeping into the scratch I’ve made. I smile as I watch red meet the black skin on either side, and the spores shrivel away from it.
We’re getting out. Going back to our people, where we will rest and get strong and come back to finish what we’ve started.
Leaning on each other for strength, Creedence and I rise, limping over to the pallet that’s been lowered down in a cradle of heavy-duty wire.
“Maybe we shouldn’t grow old together,” Creedence says, gripping my waist tighter as my knee buckles and I almost go back down to the ground.
But I don’t fall; I help him catch me, willing strength into my other leg as I lift my chin and raise my voice to be heard over the steady whomp of the tiny copter hovering overhead. “No, we’re growing old together, kitty cat. You and me and the other three. And we’re going to have kids and grandkids and great-grandkids and we’re going to make sure all of them know what a punk-ass loser that creep named Atlas was before we took him out.”
Creedence hugs me closer. “Sounds like a plan.”
We reach the small tent erected on top of the pallet; its zippered entrance open to reveal a sterile-looking white mat rolled out inside. I don’t know how Dust knew he needed to protect the outside world from our spore-infested state, but I’m grateful.
And hopeful.
We may be battered and bruised, but we’re not broken.
As Creedence guides me down to the tent’s entrance and crawls inside with me, I stare hard at the wooden door with the orange light overhead, silently promising Atlas that this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
“I think I read your vision wrong the first time, Cree,” I say as he zips up the tent, sealing the door out of sight as the copter begins to rise, whisking us up, up, and away. “I wasn’t supposed to pretend to join Atlas.”
“No?” He arches a brow.
“No. I’m supposed to pretend to be Atlas…” I lift my scratched hand, funneling what little energy I have left into my fingers, willing them to shift and spread, for my skin to darken and thin with age and my knuckles to knot just like Atlas’s do when he makes a fist.
Creedence whistles, soft and low. “That’s fucked up, Slim.” He leans in, kissing my temple. “And fucking brilliant.”
I don’t know about that, but it’s the kernel of a plan, something to cling to as Creedence and I reach the world above. Familiar voices assure us everything is going to be all right as our tent is loaded into the back of a large truck and we trundle away from the pit that almost killed us.
But it didn’t.
And Atlas is going to live to regret that very soon.
Chapter 24
Luke
I grab Dust by the elbow, keeping him near the front of the tractor trailer, as Kite and Leda supervise the unloading of Wren and Cree’s hazmat unit at the vamp’s top-secret hospital beneath an old mill near the river.
“You can’t tell her,” I whisper urgently. “She’s got enough on her plate without knowing her sister’s been taken.”
“Kidnapped, you mean?” Dust’s eyes blaze into mine as he shakes off my hand. “By a vampire drug lord you decided it was a good idea to ask for help?”
“What fucking choice did we have?”
“There are always choices,” he snaps back.
“Don’t pretend you weren’t on board,” I say, keeping my voice low. “We did what we had to do. We were out of options. We’re still out of options. You start stirring up shit out there, demanding to know where Scarlett is, and our welcome is going to get a hell of a lot less warm.”
“Then let it.” Dust’s hands curl into fists at his sides. “Taking Scarlett was never part of the deal. The Triad gets the contents of the safe; we get Wren and Creedence. That was the agreement. Not the goods and a bonus hostage.”
“You saw Wren and Cree, Dust. Kite said they could barely walk. And you don’t start a vampire fight with two of your people in that kind of shape.”
His jaw clenches, but he stays put.
“And Scarlett’s guard is on it,” I add in a softer voice, cutting a glance to the men near the open end of the truck, who are busy unloading airtight containers with samples of the creeping black shit inside. I’m not sure how much the flunkies know about what their kingpin is up to, but it seems best to keep the fact that a pissed off fairy with biceps the size of Easter hams is on their boy’s trail between us. “Bane didn’t talk much, but he seemed like the kind of guy who gets the job done.”
“He’s also only one man,” Dust says. “You heard what Scarlett said. All the Fey defensive resources are being diverted to the queen and her daughter.”
I exhale. “Yeah, I know. But Scarlett isn’t some delicate flower, man. She’s tough as nails. That vampire is going to regret snatching a woman who knows her way around a sword like she does, I guaran-damn-tee it. She’ll probably have him defanged before Bane catches up with them.” I glance over my shoulder again, but we’re finally alone. Turning back to Dust, I remind him, “But Wren isn’t in peak condition right now. She needs us to build her up, help her get ready to fight, not shoot another hole in her armor.”
Dust rakes a hand through his hair, hesitating another beat before he grits out, “Fine. But as soon as she’s feeling better, we tell her. Tell all of them. And in the meantime, you and I keep eyes on our hosts at all times. Any more surprises and we’re out of here.”
“Agreed.” I nod, even though I’m making a promise I might not be able to keep. Surprises are bad, yes, but moving Wren and Creedence right now would be even worse.
I haven’t gotten an up-close look at either of them yet, but what Kite saw from the window of the copter wasn’t good. He said Creedence looked like he’s lost at least ten pounds, and Wren, who didn’t have much meat on her bones to start with, is practically skeletal.
All our months of training and beefing up her diet and doing everything we could to get her strong and ready to fight Atlas were for nothing.
Or maybe not, I realize a few hours later, when Wren and Cree are finally cleared for visitors.
We walk into their room, to find the freshly showered and shine
d-up patients tucked under matching blue blankets in side-by-side hospital beds, looking pretty okay, all things considered. Wren is still alive, but if she’d been that same frail, willow-switch of a woman I met in a basement months ago, she wouldn’t be.
Seeing her propped up in bed, pale and gaunt but with fire in her eyes and that same determined jut to her chin, shatters something inside me. The firewall I threw up to keep fear and worry from taking over as I fought to get my mate back crumbles to dust and blows away, leaving my throat so tight that for the first several minutes, I can’t speak a word.
I hang back, watching Kite and Wren embrace, staring deep into each other’s eyes with secret smiles. Dust is next, wrapping her up in his arms and pressing her to his chest, where she rests her head above his heart with an expression of such obvious, shameless joy that it makes the boa constrictor wrapped around my neck squeeze even tighter.
And then she lifts her gaze to me, and I lose it. I lose my fucking shit, right in front of her and all the rest of them.
Tears spill silently down my cheeks, but I don’t bother wiping them away. I go to her, sliding into the bed beside her and kissing the top of her head, her temple, her cheeks, her mouth, softly and gently, again and again, letting the tears smear between us as I tell her everything I don’t have the words to express.
But she knows. And she always will know, because I’m never going to let her out of my sight again.
“Not even to use the fucking bathroom,” I say, my voice rough with emotion.
She smiles up at me, eyes shining. “What about the bathroom?”
“You’re not going to the bathroom, or anywhere else, without me. Until he’s dead, I’m your shadow. Promise me.”
Wren’s lips quirk up again before thinning into a flat line I don’t like the look of. I like what she has to say next even less, “Unfortunately, I can’t make that promise. I’m going to have to go in alone. At least at first.”
I shake my head, but before I can argue that “alone” is the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard, her face shimmers and shifts. Suddenly, there’s a full gray beard where her determined chin used to be. The rest of an older man’s face ripples into place a moment later, making me jerk back so hard I almost fall off the bed.
