9. Leni

The stars bleed into the sky above, pinpricks of light reflected on the dark sea stretching below. Boots crunch on the gravel behind me, but I don’t take my eyes off Odren for one second.

I lived under his watch for fifteen years, and before he snatched me in the middle of the street, I’d never seen him smile.

Now he can’t seem to stop.

Blood pools on my tongue and my cheek stings white hot from the slap of his hand. His hair is cut in a typical sentry buzz, and his face is clean shaven, but his flat nose is swelling and I’m rapidly developing a steel coated stomach for giving males what they deserve.

I swing out at him a second time, fueled by a decade of rage and he grabs a fistful of my hair and wrenches. “You spoiled bitch,” he snarls. “You think you can run? You made a vow.”

He’s never called me anything other than princess before. On the mountain path, too far princess. In the library, time’s up, princess. If I lingered by a door that wasn’t mine, not for you, princess. But now, as we stand in the shipyard surrounded by his cronies, I hear the sinister edge in every memory.

I stumble backwards, trying to break free from his grip but only manage to trip over the loose gravel beneath my feet.

“Let me have her, I’ll keep her too busy to run,” one of Odren’s buddies’ jeers. Four of them trail us like chains on an anchor.

No style. Yaya would have roasted them like mini marshmallows for the matching black raincoats.

I know what she’d do if she were here. Run.

“Don’t touch me,” I snap, regretting trading Cross’s dagger for his gun in a moment of panic.

Odren presses the silver line of the muzzle into the curve of my neck. “Shut. Up.”

I freeze, heart pounding.

“Thinks she’s got a choice.” the soldier in front sneers at me through chipped teeth. “Like we’re asking permission or something.”

The males chuckle. It’s a crowd favorite. He’s the comedian.

I mentally punch him in the dick.

“Please,” forces its way from my lips instinctively.

“Please,” Laugh Riot taunts. The pad of his pointer appears surgically attached to the trigger of his gun. “A beggar. Aren’t you into that shit, Odie?”

Odren’s eyes rake over me, viewing me as more property than person. The sea behind us roars in warning, but I can’t focus on anything else but the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

He grabs my throat and pulls me closer to him. “Maybe I should give you a little test for His Grace. See if you’re worth this trouble.”

Pure terror crashes into me as blood trickles down my chin. The heels of my boots slide over the slick wood of the dock.

Run. Run. Run.My mind screams at me, injects inexplicable energy into bruised, sore muscle.

Where?I almost shout it, almost sob. Where can I run?

I ran across a country, an ocean, and now I’m being walked down the plank.

The spymaster was right. I am reckless and stupid. I never stood a chance.

“… not fucking listening!” Odren’s hand strikes into me with the force of a whip, sending me crashing into cold, wet planks. Stinging, angry pain scorches my wrists and knees as I scrape the rough wood. My head falls back, dazed and disoriented.

Thunder shakes the dock, as the sea showers me with freezing water, numbing my senses. I struggle to keep my eyes open, fighting against the darkness creeping in.

A loud voice curses about whores and their place as a rough hand snags my throat and hauls me up onto unsteady feet. Warm blood spills down my sternum, glazing my tattoo.

Did I black out? New fears gnaws at me. Desperately, I claw at Odren’s arm, trying to loosen his grip.

Bile bleeds out from my stomach, starts shutting down internal organs. He’s going to kill me. “… yeah, princess?”

I wasn’t listening, but there’s a sick implication in his tone. I think I’m going to retch.

Odren laughs. Horrible and demented. It’s the worst sound I’ve ever heard until he gasps.

Hot blood splatters the front of my coat.

He chokes. Gurgles. Stumbles back to reveal the end of a knife sticking through his chest. His white, wide eyes meet mine before he lets out a choppy groan and collapses backward.

I don’t even flinch at the thud of his body hitting the ground at my feet. I’m too focused on the male standing behind him.

His shirt’s torn. Dark, wet hair sags into his eyes, and the mouth that just started healing is split again, angrier, redder, like he tore it with a fish hook.

Dark patches of blood litter the angle of his jaw, a deep dribbling cut climbs up his neck, and shadows, pitch black, flow and swirl and writhe in his wake, a personal storm of unholy darkness spilling over the dock.

“Leni,” he growls, and there’s a whole realm in the word. Relief and anguish. Fear.

My heart flounders inside my ribs, beating out an uneven rhythm as Cross steps over Odren’s body to stand before me.

“Can you stand?” Cross’s voice is heavy with grit and shadow and there’s savagery in the way he bends his heaving body over me, how he doesn’t bother to let go of the tainted murder weapon as he gently tucks my hair behind my ear. “Leni?”

Of course I can stand.

But … I can’t feel my feet, and it dawns on me that Cross isn’t standing with me. He’s holding me. And I’m leaning into him, clutching at the sopping wet shirt beneath his jacket.

The moment I tell him “Yes,” my legs give out beneath me.

He doesn’t catch me because I don’t fall. My weight is already strung along the muscle of his arm banded around me, the butt of his knife presses into my side, and I like it. I feel safe, I feel found and seen.

“It’s alright.” His silky rumble drifts over my skin. “Closer’s better.” To assert his point, he tugs tighter, plastering me against him. He smells like smoke and blood and dirt, and I inhale deeply, all the fight abandoning me.

He came for me.

I allow myself to go limp against him, trembling with adrenaline. As the rain and sea pummel us, I realize being held in Cross’s arms feels preternaturally right. As if we’ve done this before. In another lifetime.

“I’ve got you now,” he murmurs against my temple. “How badly are you hurt?”

My knees are scratched and raw, my skin burns from the cold, and I must be crying or the rain’s gone hot on my cheeks. All in all, it could be far worse. I shake my head against his chest.

“Use your words, Leni.”

“I’m fi—”

“If you say fine, I won’t ask again, I’ll just search you. Thoroughly.” His thumb skims lightly along the curve of my nape. “Please.”

Please must be a secret passcode into my mind because I just say it. The truth. After subterfuge and coyness and covering tracks, I burst, “Draven found me.”

“Who?”

His heartbeat is like syrup under my ear. Slow and sticky. Didn’t skip a beat when he killed Odren.

“Who found you?” Cross repeats, forehead sinking close enough to burn mine. “Leni, information is crucial here. Consider your favor done at the first opportunity, on the honor of me and my name, not any guard. Who found you?”

I try to steady my voice, but it trembles as I speak. “He … I wasn’t fast enough. I can’t escape.” I pull back slightly. “I—whose blood is that?” It’s not his. It’s not cherries and metal.

It’s green. Unmistakably Gorgon. Odren, I realize slowly. On instinct, I inhale, and there, underneath Cross’s scent is a bright, fruity note that makes my stomach churn.

“I counted eight men converging here,” Cross says, head in the battle. Is that all of them?”

“You killed a Gorgon,” I mutter, feeling light-headed.

“He pulled your hair,” Cross returns flatly.

That smell. I sway. “I don’t feel good.”

“We’re going to shoot now.” There’s a new gun appears in his hand, matte and boxy. He cocks it against his cheek. “Alright? Leni? Hey.” He jostles me. “Look at me. Breathe.”

I shut my eyes. “I’m going to be sick.”

Under my palm, his heart stutters like a lit fuse kissing a jug of gasoline. “Are you hurt? Are you in pain?”

“Yes.” Yes, everywhere. Every breath and step.

And I’m exhausted and losing. And that smell.

He pinches my chin, forcing me to look at him. “I’ll fix—”

“Right flank!”

Noise explodes in my ear.

A bullet rams into Cross’s shoulder at the exact moment Lev shouts.

Cross grunts as if the hot metal boring into his tissue and bone is a splinter. He swears something foul under his breath as he releases me, turning his back to shield me. “Stay down!” he yells. “Close your eyes!”

He shouts other commands too—stay low, hide, protect my neck, bunch my knees, curl into a ball and hope this works out. Hope two cursed males can take on the army chasing me? Fat chance.

I shove to my feet.

Thundering footsteps crash onto the dock. Wood creaks. The struggling pier lights shatter, raining chunks of fogged glass into the water.

Just as my eyes adjust to the storm, Cross unleashes, and darkness swallows everything. His power is wanton, tendrils of black stretching out from him and lashing, mute and malevolent.

The air grows thick and heavy.

Gunshots. Small bursts of flames light like spotlights. Cross shoots them with lethal precision, shoulders back, zero hesitation.

Shouts and grunts are quickly followed by the familiar sound of flesh striking flesh.

Someone grabs my ankle, and I react instinctively—kicking and thrashing. My ear’s bleeding. My body aches everywhere and my only thought is:

Is this it?

Will this be enough to tip me over the edge?

Is this how Yaya felt?

More gunshots. Lev’s frantic shouts are barely audible over the chaos. Russian, not Greek or English. He gets no response.

My heart constricts. The moment I kick free, I run.

Pushing through the black is like swimming through molasses. Cross’s shadows stick to me, dragging me, clinging as I sprint for freedom.

I don’t slow for anything. Not even when the darkness wraps around my legs and burns like fire.

This is my choice. I am in control.

No male will ever rule me. I decide my own fate.

The ocean is mean, and cruel, waves pounding when I launch myself into it.

Cold consumes me, and it’s glorious.