43. Nat

43

Nat

the best way to die? There isn't one, you sadistic fuck

Sometimes when things go to shit, everything slows down, every detail crystallizes into a tableau that imprints on your brain. A memory to haunt you whenever you close your eyes. The taste, the smell, the terror.

I’m not having one of those moments.

One second the ceiling’s collapsing towards us and then suddenly we’re in a freefall.

There’s no time to scream.

No time to think, no time to plunge a knife into the lab coat’s traitoress neck.

I almost don’t recognize I’ve found a handhold until Sin clinches my wiggling legs into the broken wall and my entire body revolts.

The elevator shaft and stairwell are blown, a gaping cylindrical hole cut through the center of the building, and we’re clinging to it’s edge over a six floor drop of crashing metal and cement.

The world spins, a kaleidoscope of chaos as chunks of walls and twisted iron rods hurtle past us.

Flames lick at the crumbling edges of the floor above. The heat sears my skin, but I hardly feel it over the thrall re-surging through my veins. Sweat trickles down my brow, mingling with the dried blood and making a sticky necklace at my throat.

Sin’s hanging in the same shitty position I am, arms over his head, fingers clawing into the rough cement.

Except his legs are struggling to find a foothold. The toes of his boots bounce off dust and cracks. And he’s not flexing. He’s not pulling himself up.

I’ve felt his strength. I know he can. He should be taunting me. Too much blood loss? Say please and I’ll haul you into my arms.

His eyes are closed

His teeth are gritted.

He’s groaning. As if he’s been shot straight through with Artemis’s bow.

I’m weak. The thrall and a streak of Big Mad are the sole reason I haven’t blacked out to induce rapid recovery.

“Hold on.”

“What”—amethyst peeks through wet ashy lashes—“does it look like I’m doing?”

If I had the breath, I’d laugh. “Self-destruct,” I mutter, arms shaking. “What is this a fucking Kim Possible villain? Who”—my fingers slide, and I throw them higher, straining, kicking against rubble—“who even thinks of that?”

“You—” Sin breathes hard, speech strained. “You would.”

It’s not an accusation. It’s pride.

“Now it feels like a must,” I grunt, leaning into the distraction, ignoring the peril. “Just need a giant lair and minions. Then I’m—”

I slip.

Sin’s wide palm slams over mine, catching me, and throwing me higher up the wall at his own expense. He slides down, dangling with four fingers.

I reach for him, to help him return to my level, when his wrist cracks.

Not slides. Not tenses. It cracks . Bone and tissue and tendon tearing.

“Curse,” he mutters almost dismissively as he shuts his eyes. Exhales. “It’s the curse.”

The curse.

His curse. Revenge for the Great King or …

Pain .

The curse that drives him down this path of vengeance, chasing his only lead: a Phoenix.

But now, now I’ve scraped the truth off like a scab and his curse is spilling out. Like Pandora tearing back the lid on that dreadful box I’ve unleashed suffering.

Sin warned me of the consequences.

I didn’t think …

Light pink blood leaks from his ear. His jaw is so tight every tendon in his throat is visible.

This is not pain.

It’s torture. It belongs in Tartarus.

In his arm, another bone fractures. Breaks.

He growls, guttural, homicidal. Falls.

I drop too, panic swallowing any scream as I snatch his wrist and blindly throw out my arm, hair whipping above me. Snapped rebar pierces my palm and my arms lurch in their sockets when I grab on. Two hundred pounds of Demigod drag me down, my hold slipping with each passing second.

A fire roars below us. Acrid smoke fills my lungs, stinging my eyes. I blink away the tears. I can’t let go. Not now.

Sin’s panicked breaths echo in my ears, a staccato rhythm against the creaking of the failing structure.

“Hold on!” I shout. It sounds like begging. The rebar bites into my palm, slick with silver, but I tighten my hold. I won’t let this fucking building beat me.

Sparks rain down like hellish fireflies, igniting pockets of debris. The air undulates with heat, distorting the jagged remnants of walls and support beams. It’s as if we’ve fallen into the depths of Tartarus itself.

Maybe we have.

Maybe this is my penance for lying, for betraying the Erinyes. For not attacking black.

A thunderous crack resounds from above, and I glance up to see a large slab of the ceiling give way. It hurtles at us, and Sin groans, lifting himself to hold me with two hands.

We’re sweaty, bloody, pathetically clutching each other. My nails sink into his flesh, feeling the split bones move as my fingers dig in. “I’ve got you,” I lie.

Voices drift down from above, muffled by the roaring inferno and whine of framework. I strain to make out the words, desperate for any sign of hope amidst this hellish nightmare.

Sin’s hold on me tightens, his nails piercing as another wave of his curse wracks his body.

“They’re coming for us,” I rasp, my voice almost inaudible through the chaos. “Just wait a little longer.”

As the words leave my lips, I realize they’re a hollow promise. The voices above us are too far away, too faint to be our salvation. And that’s only if they’re on our side. What if they’re loyal to Emil? We’d be target practice.

No, we’re on our own, dangling over the abyss with nothing but our own resilience and determination to keep us from plummeting into oblivion.

“We’re.” Sin clenches his teeth, gaze finding me. “Too. Late.”

Tears leak down my cheeks. “Hold on or I will impale you on this rebar.”

“You can’t hold us both.”

It’s the surest way to get me to do something. Clenching tighter, I scrounge the last of my reserves.

“You lied.”

I shouldn’t be able to hear it. Not in that tone, not admonishing, but soft, loving. Like Sin’s honey whisper in my ear, telling me I deserve the sunset, encouraging me to give into him.

Blood stains his mouth. We’re going to die.

I killed him.

“Drop me,” he croaks.

Let go . Persephone said. The guard will betray you.

As much as I betrayed him?

I squeeze tighter, shutting my eyelids to block out the heat and smoke. There has to be a way out of this, some hidden path to safety that I’ve overlooked. My mind races, sifting through the wreckage of my thoughts for anything that might help us escape this fiery tomb.

“Let go, Natasa.”

“You told me you were hard to kill. Start acting like it,” I hiss, fury mounting in my chest. Firming my grip on the rebar, I wrench with all my strength. We don’t move. Panic sets in. “ Fight Sin.”

Don’t walk to your death. Not again.

“ Fight .” Fight for this, for us.

A faint cool breeze puffs up my back. “You can’t hold us both, love.” His tone is so serene, so soft.

Mine is scathing. “I’m a Fury.”

“No,” he says, the first touch of bite entering his words, the first spark of disobedience in those purple eyes. “You’re more.”

I am.

I’m Erinyes. But I’m also a killer. A friend. A widow and a lover.

Sin’s bloody fingers wrap around my wrist.

Hot tears stretch down my face. Yes. Fight.

Then he crushes my fingers. It’s reflex—like releasing my sword to hurl my shield—my fingers unlatch.

He lets go.

For the first time in my life, I’m not fast enough.

I lose him.