42. Exposed

Chapter 42

Exposed

ELIO

M orrigan Quinn, the phantom queen, slinks around the closest column with a wry grin and lowers her big hood. Her black hair is braided away from her face, her brown eyes gleaming with a thirst for blood.

"I see you found a way to heal my venom after all. Are you really sure dying of a frozen heart is better than the fate I had in store for you, little huntress?" she says.

Back when I saw her last, she was equally wicked, but now, the bite of power spiking the air around her slender frame is laced with the same strange flavor of Tidecaller technology that the Gray Man possessed.

The plan was to stall the attack for a few minutes to give Lori's family more time to join us, but the devious grin Morrigan directs at my new wife turns my blood to ice. If it wasn't for Lori's insistence that we had to capture and not kill her, I'd gladly cleave that woman in two.

I summon my sword, and the familiar blade feels light in my hand, its cold edge at a sharp contrast to the fire in my chest.

Morrigan saunters closer, quick as an eel. "How did you know I'd be here?"

I instinctively sidestep to shield my queen, but Lori's daggers are extended on each side of her. Shadow magic slithers over the fabric of her black uniform, leaving no doubt that she was looking forward to this fight.

"Bring it, witch."

"Tut-tut. Patience. I want to see you squirm a little."

Lori points the end of her dagger at the second shadow she warned me about. "Is your boyfriend going to join us, or is he naive enough to think I didn't spot him?"

The air crackles with electricity. A muggy, nefarious cloud slowly sharpens to existence above our heads and obscures the moonlight as the Gray Man condenses into solid form next to his ally.

His thick, geodesic mask obscures his eyes, while the triangular metal plate covering his mouth and nose hides the rest of his face. "Let's not dawdle, Rye," he chucks out, his voice low and unrecognizable as it pierces the metal barrier.

"I know you," I say quickly, the peculiar piece of armor only making sense if he wants to hide his voice and identity.

Why else would he conceal himself so thoroughly?

He gives a low, croaky laugh, and shakes his head. "No, you don't, but I know you , Elio Lightbringer. I'm looking forward to taking everything that's yours." He angles his mask to Lori for a split second, and my blood howls for violence.

The current of animosity rolling off him feels familiar. I've been on the receiving end of many swords held by men that shared his sentiment. Whoever he is, he lost someone dear to him and blames me for their death.

"How did you know we were coming?" he asks.

"You tried to kill me on the mountains. It wasn't much of a secret that you'd try again."

"Elio killed his first wife, you know," Morrigan says with a smirk, clearly trying to drive a wedge between me and my new queen.

Lori tilts her chin up. "I know."

Morrigan's lips thin as her big revelation falls flat. "I didn't peg you for a power-hungry huntress."

"I'm queen now. And you're not," Lori taunts.

Angry fighters make sloppy mistakes, and Morrigan's failed lifelong pursuit of a crown is her sorest spot.

With a flick of the wrist, the witch summons four Dreamcatcher spiders to her side like weaving nightmares is as easy as breathing. The creatures shimmer in the night, appearing out of nowhere as though they've just crawled out of hell.

By Thanatos!

Light undulates along their long, crooked limbs, their claws struggling to gain traction on the sleek marble floor. While the last batch were mostly black, this new model has blue, crystalline accents, and frosted over globulous eyes. Tiny overlapping plates decorate their front, reminiscent of the scales the Tidecallers harvested from my dragon.

A black and red metallic glint draws my attention to Morrigan's hand, where what I first mistook for a wrist guard is actually a metallic plate embedded with precious stones, inserted directly into her skin. The Mist Fae implant amplifies her magic, but what can be forged can also be broken—or cut off.

"No wolves?" I ask my opponent.

"I'd rather kill you myself."

His carefree demeanor sparks an itch between my shoulder blades as I inspect him for a similar trinket, but his arms and hands are concealed by tightly-knit fabric and heavy gloves.

"No one can kill death. If you strike me down, another will take my place. There is no escaping it."

"Death isn't necessary. Not for us. Immortal souls can endure death and be transferred into new bodies. You and your devil of a father just refuse to let us try," he adds. "You insist on wasting perfectly good souls, and now, I'm going to destroy you."

Goosebumps raise on my arms. The process he's alluding to is not only forbidden and heretical but also terrifying—especially for someone who has witnessed firsthand how wretched and deformed a dark soul can become.

Many flawed conclusions have emerged from the Mist King's experiments. The Gray Man is confusing possession with true immortality. While he's not the first to make this mistake, he is certainly the first with such raw power—and an army.

"The rituals you're referring to were outlawed for a reason. Besides, they wouldn't save whoever made you so angry with me."

His sword materializes in his hand, the long yellow lines on the dark hilt even more pronounced than before. He grips it with ease, the weapon held at the ready. The shimmer of the blade packs a mesmerizing punch, as if he has spent every waking hour sharpening it since our last skirmish.

"You're right about that. And I'm going to make you regret the day you stepped foot in her bedchamber if that's the last thing I do." The Gray Man pauses mid-step and angles his face to the side, switching his weight from one foot to the other.

Zip.

A shadow arrow pierces his shoulder, his last-second hesitation preventing it from reaching his heart. The arrowhead makes a sickening, squelching sound as it enters the flesh, and he howls at the impact.

Zip. Zip. Zip.

Shadow arrows ricochet off the nearest spiders, the projectiles ineffective against the creatures' new armor.

A hailstorm suddenly envelops us in a cocoon, erasing the outside world from view. I take advantage of the chaos to attack, while Lori moves to catch Morrigan off guard, too.

The Gray Man parries my attack with an angry grunt, and as much as I want to focus on him, half of my mind is on Lori. Morrigan is the greatest Shadow huntress ever to live—even without the obvious magical boost she acquired. She stabbed Damian through the heart and eluded justice for decades.

But my wife proves to be a better fighter than I anticipated, meeting the phantom queen's attacks with impressive stamina and flair, deflecting them left and right.

The Gray Man closes his hand around the arrow head sticking out of his body and pulls it straight through, his flesh melding back into fresh skin in less than a second.

By the spindle… this is the most advanced healing I've ever witnessed .

The audible smile in his voice raises all my hairs to attention. "Oh, let's go."

Sword fights hinge on footwork, timing, and analyzing subtle shifts in your opponent's stance—dancing on a knife's edge, as my father used to say. Once again, my opponent's impulsivity plays to my advantage, but when he strikes, he aims to kill.

The third slash of his sword misses me by a hair, and the momentum throws him off balance. My abs clench as the tip of my blade pierces his flesh, but the Gray Man heals as quickly as he did earlier. So quickly that I start to wonder if he can be killed at all.

His sword comes at me again and again, and my muscles tense under the relentless blows. A sharp rasp grates my throat as our blades lock.

A low metallic clink reverberates through the stillness of the frozen valley. We strain against each other, sweat gathering on our foreheads. The mask and metal plate concealing the Gray Man's face reveal no emotion, but his magic crackles with unrestrained hostility in the air between us.

I draw power from the glacier, the lake, and the souls beneath the surface. Ice thorns crawl over my arms in complex crystalline patterns, and each delicate shard pulses with a life of its own. With enough strength gathered, I unleash a blast of arctic wind that sends the Gray Man tumbling over the edge of the gazebo and onto the hard surface of the lake.

Ice embedded in his chest, he struggles to stand. Frozen fabric flakes off his shoulders, revealing the frostbitten skin beneath, and he trembles as he raises a hand to touch the cold injury. I might not be able to kill him, but I can certainly freeze him.

I flex my fingers, willing the ice to spread toward his heart, and dash forward to press my advantage when a pain-filled scream snaps my attention to Lori.

She's fallen onto her back at the opposite end of the gazebo, a set of spider fangs embedded deep in her ankle. Her arms shake violently as she slashes open the spider's stomach. The creature disintegrates into shards of shadow magic that quickly return to Morrigan, the witch now perched over my wife to administer a killing blow.

An ice spear flies from my hand before I can even think, slicing a deep cut into the witch's arm and disarming her. Lori shoves Morrigan down onto her stomach with a well-placed leg swing and tries to mount her to shackle her hands behind her back. Just as she's about to secure the restraints, another spider descends from the ceiling, splashing silk across Lori's face.

My wife jerks backward, desperately clawing at the sticky webs. Her panicked movements send a chill down my spine. I can't waste any time. I dash to her side and slice the spider in two, sparing her from the creature's venomous fangs.

The phantom queen remains sprawled on her stomach next to Lori. With an annoyed grunt, she pushes herself off the floor, baring her teeth in warning as blood drips from her injured arm. "Looks like chivalry isn't dead. Do you really want to win this fight only to bury her corpse next to the others, Elio?"

The jab grates my insides, but Lori seizes the moment to slam the hilt of her dagger into the back of Morrigan's hand. The impact shatters the metal plate molded to the witch's knuckles, sending a thunderous echo reverberating through the valley.

Morrigan shakes out her wrist, and her eyes widen as black tendrils slither through the sleet storm, the pulse of the Shadow King now palpable. Damian emerges from the veil of clouds behind me, with Seth close behind. The prince has created a protective bubble around them, and the blizzard fades.

The Gray Man watches us from a distance, pacing like a caged lion unsure of his next move. The ice injury he sustained glistens in the moonlight, its frosty surface contrasting starkly with the rest of his dark attire. Three other Shadow hunters encircle the gazebo, and he finally dismisses his sword.

"Sorry, Rye. You know we can't afford to be taken prisoner," he drawls in a dispassionate tone.

Seth's gaze snaps to him, and his throat bobs. "Luther?"

From the prince's reaction, it's clear he recognizes him. The Gray Man's grip falters for an instant, but he quickly recovers and hurls a dark, oily dagger at his associate.

Damian shields Morrigan with his body, the dagger intended for the phantom queen sinking into his chest instead as he lets out a low groan. Did the Gray Man really just try to kill her?

A warm wind lashes against my cheeks, lifting the snow from the ground to form a tunnel around the Gray Man as Seth rushes toward him. "Luther!"

Both men vanish into the storm, and when the white veil lifts, neither Seth nor the Gray Man is visible.

Dark blood gushes out of the laceration in Damian's chest, and Morrigan purrs, "It pleases me to see you so concerned for my well-being, darling."

The Shadow King snarls as he wrenches the blade from his flesh. When Lori insisted we capture Morrigan instead of killing her, I knew there had to be a reason. But seeing the Shadow King protect his ex-fiancée—the woman who nearly destroyed him—shakes me to the core. The oily dagger burns out as it exits his body, flaring into a flash of purple flames.

"What was on that blade? More venom?" Lori chucks out.

Morrigan sighs, her villainous grin faltering as she tightens her jacket around her frame. "Probably."

"Don't you dare try and transform, or I swear I will cut off each and every one of your limbs," Damian growls, his focus unshaken despite the blood streaming down his front.

Morrigan cowers closer to him like he didn't just threaten to maim her. "A girl knows when she's been bested. Take me home, then, my love."

If my relationship with Iris was toxic, these two are on a whole other level. Still, the way she coos the word home sends a sickening jolt of doubt through my stomach. I decide not to let Damian yield to her demand. If she's so eager to be locked in a dungeon, she'll have to settle for mine.

"I'll take her into my custody for now." Acid rises in my throat as I shackle Morrigan with solid ice and search her for more jewels. "Until we find her associate, he might return to finish what he started."

I can't shake the intuition that, if killing us was plan A, going home with Damian was plan B. I'll share my suspicions with Lori and Damian when the time is right, but that witch certainly looked too happy to get caught.