by Olivia Ash
The crystal has totally warped me, far more so than I realized.
I can barely fight.
Carter bucks his hips and tosses me off of him. I roll, skidding the last few feet as he charges, not even giving me a second to recover. He flips me on my back and straddles me, shoving my shoulders hard against the concrete as he pins me to the ground.
His hands wrap around my neck, and he squeezes tightly. I claw at his wrists—not because I’m desperate for air, but because I want to distract him while I look for an opportunity to get him the hell off of me.
A knee in the back, a sharp punch to the throat—there’s plenty I can do to weaken his grip on my throat, but I just need an opening.
Irena grunts with effort and agony. Seconds later, the splinter of wood catches my attention, and it sounds like she just sailed through a few of the crates lining the tunnel. I grimace, trying to decide what needs my attention more—my sister, or the man cutting off my air flow.
“Don’t kill her, idiot,” Zurie snaps, her footsteps nearing.
Oh shit.
I tilt my head backward to see her walking toward us, the box in her hands. As she nears, she opens the lid, and once more I feel as though my soul is being sucked from my body. The crystal glows vibrantly blue, and I wonder how much longer until my power fades completely.
I will not let that happen.
I will not let my dragon die.
Zurie drops the box next to my head, and this close, it feels almost as if I’m being stabbed. My heart, my throat, my eyes—everything stings. Within me, my dragon writhes in agony as she slowly fades to nothing.
Zurie kneels beside me. “You’re not special, Rory. It’s time to realize that.” Her voice is low. Dark. Grating. “You’re a Spectre, child. That’s all you are. That’s all you were born to do. It’s all you’ll ever be. You are nothing more than an assassin I created.” She pauses, maybe to let her words sink in as her minion slowly chokes me to death. “I own you.”
“You think you own me?” My voice grates against my throat, almost painful in my burning anger.
I narrow my eyes, watching her, realizing something deep in my core, something I’ve known for a while but was too stubborn to admit.
I once thought she saw me as a daughter. I thought, perhaps, her attempts to bring me back were in part because she cared, even if only in her broken, fractured way.
But I’m not her family. Zurie doesn’t have family. She operates alone and loves nothing. To her, I’m not even human. I’m not worthy of rights or a voice. I'm a puzzle piece, the closest thing she has to a legacy. I’m simply the last card she has to play, and she's not going to let me out of this.
“You’ve never owned me, Zurie,” I say through gasping breaths. I glare at her, and I don’t have to yell or curse for her to understand how deadly serious I am. “And you never will.”
Zurie’s right eye narrows slightly, almost imperceptibly, so subtly that no one else could have possibly noticed.
But I did.
I know her, maybe even better than she knows me. This is the woman who raised me. She taught me to fight, to kill, and I know that face. That expression.
It's the one she makes when she's about to snap.
When she's about to kill.
And she's looking at me.
“Fine,” she says simply.
That one, little word says everything.
It’s the kill order.
She surrendered, and she knows she’ll never reprogram me. I’m too far gone, and all of the favors she’s cashed in have been wasted.
Now, it’s about revenge. And Zurie is very good at revenge.
“When she’s weak,” Zurie says, shifting her attention to Carter, “kill her. Consider this your initiation.”
A sadistic grin breaks across Carter’s face. “With pleasure, ma’am.”
Zurie casts one last disgusted look down at me—at her shattered legacy—and stands.
It hits me, then.
How badly I wanted this to work.
How much I craved the idea of her simply letting me go—and letting me live in peace.
Letting me. Like I somehow needed her permission.
I don’t.
There will be no redemption for Zurie. No talking sense into her. There will be only war, blood, and death.
If it’s her or me, that’s an easy choice.
Irena coughs nearby. Thank the gods—I was worried Zurie had killed her. Even as spots dance along my vision from Carter’s hands tightening around my throat, a sliver of gratitude floods through me that she’s okay.
“How would you like to die?” Carter asks, sneering. He looms over me, a lock of his hair hanging over one eye as his wild gaze roams my face. “I’ve thought of so many fun ways to do it.”
“I’m sure you have,” I gasp through his fingers on my throat.
He’s a fool chasing a dream, though. He doesn’t have the experience I do. The Spectres would accept me as the Ghost, if begrudgingly so, but no Spectre would ever honor Carter’s rule. He’ll die the first week Zurie isn’t there to protect him. Maybe sooner.
And Zurie knows it. She just wants someone to exhaust me, to make me weaker and distract me from her battle with Irena so that I’m easier to kill.
Fine. I’ll play her game.
As I dig into the last of my energy, I twist my hips and throw Carter violently off of me. He grabs my hair as a last-ditch effort to keep his grip, and with a painful tug, he drags me a few inches toward him as he falls.
I glare at the bastard, wondering who made him like this—how one man could be so full of hate.
In the end, it’s just not my problem.
With my magic quickly seeping from me, I need to get to that box. I have to destroy it.
As we wrestle on the ground, throwing punches and skillfully avoiding each other’s blows, I keep glancing at the box. The crystal grows brighter every second, and I know I’m quickly running out of time.
I knee him hard in the back, and he doubles over in pain. I scramble on my hands and knees for the nearest gun—his pistol. I reach for it, but he tugs on my ankle. My fingers brush the metal as he drags me away.
I pivot, twisting in his grip, and kick him squarely in the face. His nose snaps beneath my bloodstained boot. It sits at a crooked angle on his face, and he screams in agony.
“A Spectre never screams,” I say through gritted teeth. For good measure, I kick him in the throat.
He coughs, sputtering blood and bile across the floor. I race again for the gun, but I’m fading. Fast. Every movement is a chore. Every muscle aches. Every inch of my body is begging for me to just quit, to simply lie there, to conserve what little energy I have left.
But I refuse to just lay down and die.
My fingers wrap around the gun handle, but I can barely tighten my grip. My elbows shake, threatening to give out. I grit my teeth in frustration, aching to finish this. Aching to make this right.
“I’m going to break your bones one by one,” Carter threatens, flipping me on my back. I groan in pain, gritting my teeth to bite back just how badly that hurt. He glares down at me, blood dripping from his nose and mouth as he wraps his hands once more around my throat. “I’m going to break every toe. Every finger. By the end of the day, you’re going to beg me to kill you. And I won’t.” His grip tightens, and white lights dance along my vision.
My fingers grasp at the space behind my head, desperately grabbing for the gun. In his hate-fueled tunnel vision, he must not see anything but the color draining from my face as he chokes me to death.
“Maybe I’ll drown you and bring you back,” he continues with a dark and twisted laugh. “Maybe I’ll chain you in a cell and let you starve.” He shrugs, chuckling madly to himself. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves with how it ends, but I promise you, Rory—I’ll film the whole thing, track down your men, and make them watch it before I do the same thing to them.”
Running on the fumes of my hatre
d for this man, I dig into my soul and find the last shreds of strength I possess. My hand wraps around the gun, and I lift it toward his face.
“No,” I growl. “You won’t.”
Before he can so much as flinch, I shoot him between the eyes.
He falls backward, landing on my legs as he goes still. I gasp with relief as I can once more breathe. Even though I desperately crave air, I force myself to keep going.
Since he’s basically solid muscle, it’s a struggle to get out from underneath him. With a few strained grunts and lots of wincing, however, I manage to tug myself free.
When I finally shove him off my legs, I can barely think straight. My brain buzzes with exhaustion and the effects of the crystal in the black box. I can barely breathe. Every breath feels like a painstaking labor, and I wheeze as I struggle to stay conscious.
Chest heaving, I force myself to my feet. I stumble toward the box on the floor, focused on my singular mission to destroy it. I can feel the last of my dragon slowly dying, but I refuse to let her go.
She can’t die.
I won’t allow it.
With a shaky hand, I lift the gun and aim for the brilliantly glowing crystal at my feet. My world spins, my vision blurring, and I feel for a moment as though I might pass out.
I push through.
I have to.
My finger squeezes on the trigger. A bullet hits the black box, shattering the lid’s hinge. I fire again, and again, hoping at least one of these will hit.
The third one does.
The crystal shatters like glass. A muted scream fills the air, and I wonder if that’s Zurie or someone else. I can barely hear anything. Hell, I can barely even see.
I fall to my knees, having done all I could.
All I can do now is hope this works.
A steady trickle of energy seeps into my fingers. It’s like my body is slowly defrosting. One by one, my muscles slowly spring to life again. My toes curl in my boots. I sigh with relief as my body relaxes, its energy slowly restored.
Warmth blurs within me, slow at first, but it steadily grows to something stronger. A gentle hum, like the essence of life itself, burning in my core.
And then she springs to life.
My dragon.
She curls within me, coiling with fury and might. Right now, she wishes she could shift—she pushes at my chest, desperate to break free. She wants nothing more than to tear holes through the person who did this to her.
The urge to let her take over is overwhelming, but try as I might, I can’t do it. It’s like we’re hitting a wall together, and even though I want nothing more than to give in, I’m blocked.
The exhaustion slowly seeps from my muscles, replaced by power. Strength. Fury. Finally, I can stand. As I get to my feet, I practically feel like I could fly.
Soon.
When I open my eyes, two figures duel in the dark tunnel ahead of me. I lift my palm, and my magic instantly springs to life between my fingers.
I grin, narrowing my eyes as I focus on Zurie’s face. Her gaze flits nervously between me and Irena, and it’s clear that the tide just turned against her.
Zurie could have avoided all of this. I gave her a way out, and she should have taken it. But now, I need to end her.
Or she will never leave me be.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Brilliant white light cascades across my skin, simultaneously humming with the life of my renewed dragon and the destructive power of the gods.
With my palms trained on Zurie, my magic dances between my fingertips, desperate to wreak havoc. She and Irena dance across my still-clearing vision, their forms practically blurring as they each try to deal a deadly blow to the other.
The master, and the student.
Equally matched, and at war.
As I take aim at my former mentor, I’m struck by the surreal sensation of knowing I have to kill her. Knowing there’s no other way. I face her as my undeniable enemy for the first time, and there’s no turning back.
It’s her or me.
Zurie is careful to angle herself behind Irena, using my sister as a shield to keep me from firing. As I prepare to join the fray, my gaze drifts briefly to the black box at my feet. A pile of shards is all that remains of the crystal that once drained the life from me, and it gives me pause.
If she found one, she might find others. I need to know what that thing was—and how to ensure no one ever uses one on me again.
“Stop,” Zurie demands, jumping several feet backward as she holds up a small detonator in one hand. “Both of you, stand down.”
Irena hesitates, body tense with bloodlust and the desire to finish this. I take a few careful steps toward her, until Irena and I stand shoulder to shoulder and face off with the woman who raised us.
“What do you have there?” I ask with a nod to the detonator.
“You know damn well what it is,” she snaps, her eyes narrowing. “Rules twelve and eighty-seven.”
Ah.
Rule 12 of the Spectres—always know when and how to escape.
Rule 87 of the Spectres—always have a failsafe.
“Where did you plant the bombs, Zurie?” I ask, never once lowering my palm.
From this distance, I could hit her with a blast powerful enough to kill her. She’s wickedly fast, so I might only take out an arm, but it would be a devastating blow nonetheless.
What I don’t know is what she plans to destroy with that small red button in her hand. Her thumb hovers over the trigger, ready to press it at a moment’s notice.
If I fire, she will, too.
We’re at a stalemate.
Damn it.
“You bore me, Zurie,” I lie, trying to goad her. “You always run. You always give up. You’re nothing but a coward.”
Zurie scoffs. “You can’t use my pride against me, child. I taught you that trick.”
I shrug. “Had to try.”
“Don’t worry.” She watches me like an insect she’d like to spear with a pin and stick to a wall as a trophy. “The next time we meet, it will be the last.”
I shake my head, determined to end this. “There won’t be a next—”
To my horror, Zurie presses the detonator.
The cavern violently trembles with all the force of an erupting volcano. It knocks me and Irena off balance, but Zurie is already running. I fire blindly at her as the world around us shakes, throwing off my aim. She stumbles, one of the bolts hitting her hard in the side, but she presses onward.
I try to stand, to follow, to end this and be done—but another explosion rocks the tunnel. A thick crack breaks across the ceiling above us, and massive chunks of the concrete overhead begin to fall.
“She’s getting away!” Irena shouts, jumping to her feet. “Come on.”
Above us, a massive chunk of the ceiling breaks free.
“Irena!” I grab her and yank her backward, away from her prey and—more importantly—away from a grizzly death.
We tumble to the ground as the concrete shatters across the area where she stood moments before. In a matter of just a few seconds, the way through is almost completely blocked.
More and more explosions rock the tunnel, caving it in, and I realize this was carefully orchestrated to ensure we couldn’t follow. Irena didn’t stop Zurie here—Zurie had stopped and waited for her.
For us.
“She can’t get away!” Irena shouts as I help her to her feet. “There has to be another—”
The hiss of gas pouring into the tunnel interrupts her. In unison, we both groan in frustration.
Without another word of debate, we bolt back the way we came. Where there’s gas, there’s usually an explosion, and we would rather not die a crispy death today.
We race toward the cavern where we had been held at gunpoint. Our boots thunder over the concrete as we charge down the sparsely lit tunnel as fast as our feet will carry us. This entire tunnel could blow at any moment, and that would mean having a blazing infer
no on our tail.
Irena and I pass a wide section in the roof that lets in daylight, and I briefly glance upward at the hundred-foot exhaust tunnel in the hopes of an escape. It’s easily wide enough to fit a plane, but the steep walls would make it impossible to scale.
Damn.
The entire compound trembles again, more violently than ever before, and a hot rush of air blows past us.
The warning of what’s to come.
“Shit!” Irena shouts. “Hurry!”
The inferno is on its way. I briefly glance over my shoulder, only to notice an orange glow reflected on the walls.
We don’t have long.
With every step, I curse Zurie. I curse how she seems to always remain one step ahead. I curse how much she hates us, how she won’t leave us alone. And, most of all, I curse how she just won’t die.
The wall of fire quickly gains on us. Gusts of blistering air hit us hard in the back, as we barely maintain our lead. We’re still a good hundred feet or so from safety, and I honestly don’t know if we’re going to make it.
I press on, regardless.
I won’t give up.
Ever.
My breath stings in my lungs, biting and painful. My thighs scream for rest, but I force them to continue.
The roar of the flames quickly approaches, and I glance over my shoulder once more to gauge the distance.
Close.
Way too close.
A ripple appears in the flames, almost like a mirage. A shadow. It looms, closer and closer, and I can’t believe this is how I’m going to die.
I refuse to accept it. I have to think of something—anything—to get us out of this. Maybe I can blast my magic into the fire, though I’m not really sure that will help. If I get enough of a head start, I might be able to cave in another section of the tunnel, but it probably wouldn’t be enough to stop an inferno like this.
Think, Rory. Think!
With a wary glance backward, I once again check the inferno. This time, the mirage within the flame begins to take shape.
It looks almost like a… head. A face.
