Chapter 44

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

I move fast.

Leaping from the corridor and running at full speed, my arms pumping, I aim for the biggest guy on my right, using his body like a ramp and his shoulder like a springboard before the other gargoyles can even react to my presence.

They probably expected me to saunter out and challenge them without any respect for their strength.

I'm not so foolhardy.

My goal is to evade and get past them.

But they aren't about to make it easy for me.

As I leap from the first gargoyle's shoulders into the gap I plotted, the gargoyles are already reacting.

I don't know why they carry so many blades because their wing daggers are incredibly efficient, slicing through the air on my right and my left fast enough to cut across my back and gut me at the same time.

Evading them means dropping and rolling, and I really didn't want to be on the floor where they could easily kick me.

Although…

I ram my claws into the calf of the incoming gargoyle on my left before I throw myself upward, twisting and dancing through the next space, then up another gargoyle's body before I somersault through the air, kicking hard off another's head and shoulders before landing and clawing another's arm. I meant the last as a defensive blow to stop his oncoming blade, but it happened too fast for me to fully retract my claws, so I slice across his forearm badly enough for him to roar with pain.

It's a sound that seems to shock the other gargoyles, freezing them for a second.

Fuck me.

Are they not accustomed to being hit and sliced up at all?

Possibly not.

The next man's wing shoots in front of himself—an attempt to use it as a shield—as I charge straight for him, taking advantage of the pause around me to gain as much ground as I can.

I have no doubt that his wings would normally be an effective shield, just as dragon scales are normally impervious to all blades.

My claws slice right through his wing, but I withdraw them before they can shred his wing into ribbons. I don't know if gargoyle wings can heal, and don't want to permanently maim anyone.

I'd rather not leave grudges in my wake.

I catch the widening of the gargoyle's brown eyes—maybe he's surprised I didn't go for the kill—before I spin into the gap behind him and charge through it.

Both of my hands shoot out, ready to raze across the chests of the gargoyles coming at me from each side.

They must not have missed what I did to their comrade's wing because they leap backward as fast as they can.

Suddenly, I'm at the far door.

Surprisingly, nobody's coming for me.

Behind me, both men and women crouch and slump, their wings hanging low. Their bodies are so bloody that I replay my actions in my mind. Did I really whirl through them so hard?

Yes.

Yes, I did.

I consider them carefully, drawing myself upright when they remain where they are, not a single one coming at me.

They may be vicious mercenaries, but their heartbeats tell me they aren't all cold-blooded killers. In fact… the way they're already assessing each other's wounds tell me they have a close pack mentality. It's the kind of pack mentality that means their leadership determines their actions.

A toxic leader makes for a toxic pack.

Well, fuck that.

Taking a chance to pause for another moment, I snarl at them. "My father put you in front of me like animals to slaughter. I would never do the same."

With that, I ram my claws through the door's handle, shredding the wood and cutting through the lock before I hurry on through.

I stop.

Gad and Valki stand on the other side of the corridor I've entered. Gad's vampire fangs are extended and Valki's muscles gleam a little, even though she's furiously chewing gum, an action that seems to keep her berserker nature under control.

They both take a glance at the carnage I left behind before the broken door swings closed.

"Fuck it," Gad says, tugging at the collar of his shirt. He's wearing a business suit, and as usual, there's a drop of blood on his white collar.

He glances at Valki and she gives a nod, lowering the arm on which she wears a metal wire that she likes to use as a garrote to strangle people.

"Your father's this way," she says. And then, beneath her breath, she adds, "He can fight his own fucking battles."

If I peer closely at them both, I can make out what looks like a burn scar across Valki's bare shoulder, visible because of her short-sleeved shirt.

And a similar burn scar across Gad's temple.

Most likely from slaps of light magic.

I snarl. "I see my father's been making use of his new power."

Neither of them answers me, but they flinch a little, a confirmation of my guess.

Then Valki chews more furiously on her gum and mutters around it, "Fucking light magic. Should be fucking outlawed."

Gad throws her a warning look, and she snaps her mouth closed so fast that her teeth clack .

We turn the next corner and then another, finally stopping at a set of large, wooden doors.

They both shuffle on the spot.

It won't look good for them if they open the door for me.

I grin at them.

I've wanted to clobber them both and I can't say my dark heart won't enjoy it.

My fist shoots out, smacking Gad across the face so hard that he drops to a crouch as I spin and rake my claws lightly across Valki's arm, drawing enough blood to make a mess without causing any real damage.

As their shouts ring out, I shove on the door and step inside.

My entrance causes a stir, but that was to be expected.

All heads turn in my direction, and I take it all in within a few seconds.

The room is far larger and more grandiose than I was expecting.

It has a black marble floor that makes me think my father deliberately chose to mimic the dark keeper's realm—which he no doubt saw in The Book of Dark Magic .

A throne sits on a dais at the other end. The dais is cleverly situated at the far end of a long table so that it sits above and beyond the table, keeping the Ultima Nostra's throne above every other seat in the room.

I rapidly count thirty people sitting at the very large table, all of them spread out in a way that tells me they don't like each other very much.

They each have another person standing at their back, possibly a beta in the case of the shifters, or a second-in-command for the humans and the other supernaturals. They will be those leaders' generals and I won't underestimate them.

My eye is drawn to the bright spot near the throne where the keeper of light magic stands, her shoulders slumped.

She looks thin. Fragile. Her eyes are the same empty, golden orbs that they were when I first saw her.

At that time, her labored breathing had caused her to sway from side to side, but now I can barely hear her breaths because they're so shallow. Her clothing remains the same: golden armor from her feet to her chin. But it now hangs off her thin frame as if she's been sucked dry. The curved blade that rests in a harness at her back, the handle of which is visible at her left shoulder, seems to be dragging her down.

He must be draining her too much.

What's also clear is that there are no other supernaturals standing at my father's back. His generals are gone. I took them.

Still, my father doesn't deign to rise from his throne.

He languishes there, his feathery, black wings nestled at his sides and easily accommodated by the throne's width.

He is luminescent. His golden eyes gleam and his skin practically sparkles. He is a perfect, powerful dark angel.

"Daughter," he calls across the distance. "You're finally here."

As if I kept him waiting.

He waves at the end of the table nearest to me, where there's an empty seat. His gesture is relaxed, but his voice is a firm command. "Sit down."

I shun the empty seat and walk to the right of the table instead, steering wide enough of the standing people that they can't reach out and strike me without leaving their posts. But close enough that it's clear I'm not afraid of them.

I flick blood off my claws as I go.

The tension rises around me. The leaders haven't made a move, but they're all watching me with a reassuring amount of wariness. I'm glad they won't underestimate me.

I assess each of them as I walk, identifying the energy around them and finally pinpointing the gargoyle king. He's sitting halfway along the table on the left side—opposite to the side I'm walking on. It puts him farther away from me, but it lets me see his entire face.

He's as burly as the gargoyles I fought minutes ago, with short, dark hair and thick eyebrows. Even thicker fingers are folded on the table in front of him as he leans slightly forward.

A blonde-haired woman stands at his back, her bare arms covered in tattoos, one of which depicts the same mountain scene Lucian wears.

Before I pass the gargoyle king's position, I remove my blindfold, ensuring he will see my golden eyes.

I don't need the blindfold's protection in this room where the light is dim. If I have to draw a little of my black blood to fully prove my heritage, I'll do that, too.

All in good time.

For now, I tuck my mother's shirt into the pocket of my jeans and focus back on my father.

Baring my teeth, I announce my intentions for all to hear. "I'm here for your throne."