44. Nat

44

Nat

not like that

The guard will betray you .

It’s not the betrayal I expected.

It hurts more.

Losing sight of Sin as he falls to oblivion.

The ring slipping off his fingers, digging into my palm.

I thought he’d stop Lesenia from taking me. Thought he might leave me bleeding on Emil’s floor. Or sink all six of his knives into my stomach when he learned Theia isn’t a Phoenix.

I could survive those.

My palm is raw on the rebar, and I grind harder into it. Panting.

I told him to hold on.

Indignation and despair surge through me, the thrall struggling under the rising fury, the adrenaline. It churns within me like molten steel, the last wave of my energy forcing me to survive.

It takes control of me. And without the burden of a Blackguard dangling below me, I’m up and flat on the cracked concrete in seconds. Heaving, sobbing. Smoke and embers swirling in a dizzying vortex, a wall of smoke around me.

Through it, the tip of a Katana touches my forehead.

A figure emerges.

No lab coat. No fatigues. No smile.

Deep green leathers and armor, double swords crossed at her back, Glocks secured on each thigh, a yellow blonde strand escapes her cowl and smudged makeup streaks her face.

Black aura billows over her. Asphalt black, dark and dull, beaten down.

The thrall weeps across me like an egg yolk poured down my back. Attack .

In ash and cinder and soot, I press my forehead into the blade and limp upright, hands roaring with pain, body screaming, every part of me worn out.

I lock eyes with the warrior, resolute, daring her to swing without saying anything. The thrall writhes in my bones, anxious for release.

Sin’s ring burrows deeper into my hand and a hollowness sweeps through me, a wrath like I’ve never felt.

The Katana lowers, and the warrior removes her cowl to reveal small features and eyes as blue as Hades’s fire. “I am not your enemy.” The words are soft, but sure. “I’m here to help you.”

The fight leaves me like a bad punch, the thrall escaping with it. I hunch over, hot tears racing down my cheeks.

Over her shoulder, the blonde calls to another, “I found one.”

“You’re safe now,” the female informs me, fluidly sheathing her Katana. “I’m Kleio, commander of Vinia’s Queensguard. We’ve liberated the building. Come, I’ll show you to the other survivors.”

Safe. Liberated. Survivors.

Exactly what I wanted. And yet, I feel hollow.

Kleio extends a slender arm to help me over the cracked floor and instead of hissing that I’m more than capable, I take it. A bleakness spills through my bloodstream, scratchy and heavy as sand. A bleakness that multiplies tenfold when I realize I don’t to be rescued if it’s at Sin’s expense.

“Are you hurt?”

Kleio’s question is such a simple thing, but it carries so much weight.

I don’t know how to answer. It doesn’t feel like hurt. Despite the ichor sliding down my fingers and the new skin on my throat. Nothing hurts.

I’m numb.

The commander doesn’t wait for my answer. She leads me through the rubble-strewn floor, over fallen ceiling panels, frayed wires. Bodies disappearing in wide crimson pools. I take them in without feeling anything, slowly piecing together that the gunshots near the cells were the Queensguard.

If I’d been patient, they’d have found us. Set the creatures free without tipping off the building’s self destruct. Sin would be fine.

Instead, we’re tiptoeing through ruins. The banks opulent facade is reduced to ruptured marble and busted concrete. Tendrils of smoke curl from piles of smoldering debris, carrying the acrid scent of burning flesh.

Kleio and her two lieutenants, a warrior with a wicked undercut named Lydia and a tall, svelte male named Leto, escort me through the wreckage, their forms navigating the obstacles with catlike grace.

The stairs and exits were blown in the explosion, so Lydia directs me to a hole in the building’s side. A ladder bridge spans a narrow alley between the bank and the multi-level parking structure next door. She instructs me to hold with two hands. It’s slow, my body is shutting down, soreness invading, but I make it across, Leto grabbing my hand when I almost fall.

Evening is here.

The air is sticky and slow from all day sun as daylight dims to amber.

In the parking garage, we go down flight after flight to the ground level.

I feel drugged. The footsteps don’t register, the empty parking stalls, the long dusty sunrays.

I’m numb to everything but the ring in my hand. I feel it’s presence like it’s trying to meld into my bone.

He betrayed me.

I try again and again to be mad.

I’m so tired. I want to sleep.

I want to crawl into bed and sleep on his pillow. I want his smell back.

At the far end of the garage, a ragged group of survivors huddles together, their faces carved with fear and exhaustion.

Some are clad in tattered finery, remnants of their former lives as prized possessions. Others wear the simple garb of servants, their callused hands and weary expressions telling stories of hardship. Most, more than I want to see, wear white hospital gowns, as if they were in and out of experiments.

Murmurs of gratitude and disbelief stir through them. Some embrace each other, tears streaming down their cheeks.

Kleio voices something like rest or worry not . Reminds me that I’m safe, but I can’t make sense of it.

The last ten minutes cycle through my head.

I lied to him. Cursed him and then I dropped him.

He’s seen me now.

Seen the evil I’m capable of. Sees what I never showed to Evan. The part of me I hid and buried, and tried to resist. What I failed to beat.

What I unleashed for Theia.

I stand there, dazed and disoriented, regarding the huddled masses. I will myself to be happy that these females are free. End up clinging to a single ember of contentedness.

And then, like moonlight in darkness, I spot her.

Sitting on a bench of peeling blue paint, her delicate frame draped in a frayed silk dress that still manages to glitter after weeks. Her once-lustrous black hair is now matted and disheveled, but her eyes—those radiant, soulful eyes—shine with an unwavering spirit that even the horrors of captivity could not extinguish.

Theia.

Relief swamps me, temporarily dulling the ache in my body.

And I decide I’d do it all again.

The biggest secret of Theia was never what creature she was. It was the slick black aura wrapped tightly around her.

Our gazes lock and the realm fades away, leaving only the two of us suspended in a bubble of breathless recognition.

I’m moving without realizing it. My legs yanking me towards her.

Theia rises to meet me, her steps tentative at first, growing bolder as we get closer. Tears glisten in her eyes. A trembling smile tugs at her lips.

I haul her into me, squeezing, sobbing.

Her arms wrap around me, and she laughs. “I knew you would find me.”

I lift her off the ground, tears flying down my cheeks.

“I knew it,” she whispers, voice breaking. “I told them.”

“Stop being such a know it all,” I growl, unable to stop a smile, clutching her tighter than she deserves.

She’s alive. Here.

Theia pulls away from me, turns and sticks her tongue out at the female with skinned knees resting on the bench. “I told you she’d come and fuck shit up!” she taunts. Then tipping a smile to me, she whispers, “That’s Daisy, my celly. she thought you were a pigment of my imagination.”

“Figment!” Daisy shouts. “Fucking Hades. I said figment.”

“She’s insane,” Theia announces, linking our arms, and smiling at me. Beaming.

Alive.

She’s thin and pale, and her steps falter as I guide her to the bench. But she’s alive.

She should be crying. She should be yelling at me for taking so long. She should scream and tell me how terrible it’s been. but that’s not Theia. Kind and sweet and honest Theia.

I almost killed her when we met. I’d been spiraling in the wake of Evan’s death. Morose, inconsolable, bloodthirsty. Theia had been the perfect target with her ink black soul. One night, I’d cornered her in the stairwell of an apartment building, knives raised.

And she’d smiled. Complimented my blood shot eyes. Asked if I wanted to be her roommate, if I liked the area. Admitted she’d just killed a rapist on the fifth floor.

I gave her a day to do something bad. Then a week. Then I stopped really seeing her aura. Stopped doing my duty.

After a barrage of compliments for the ability to pull off ichor splatter, Theia tugs on my halter top. “Do not tell me that you are absolutely fucking murdering a red catsuit right now.”

“It’s not a catsuit. It’s drakon leather.”

“I’ve seen Catwoman, Nat. It’s skin tight, buttery soft, and totally kickass. You should never take this off, and how do I get one? In purple please.”

“I don’t know. Ask Persephone I guess.”

She gasps, touching my hair and brushing it over my ear. Touchy feely. She hasn’t changed at all. “Shut the frump door. Mama P stopped by and I missed it?”

“It’s front,” Daisy mutters, flicking pebbles off her bare thighs. “Fucking Hades. Front . What’s a frump door?”

“She has been a pill to live with. Tell me what’s new.” She sniffs my shoulder and grins. “Hot date?”

I laugh. I can’t really help it. “You’ve been locked away.”

“Yeah, and without access to Love Island. So? Tell me about him.” She nudges her shoulder into mine, as if we’re on our slouchy couch in our apartment, watching the fan struggle to spin overhead. “Did he write you a poem? Pick you flowers? Compare you to a summer’s day?”

I look at the ring that’s squirreled its way onto my finger. Gold. “He called me little.”

“Oh no.”

“He’s so arrogant.” I swallow hard, pushing down the lump that threatens to form in my throat. “And his aura, Hades, Theia, it’s the most sinister black. If you saw it, you’d hit me.”

“No.”

“Yes. You would. I would hit you.”

“Because you’re much too violent.” She leans in tighter, smelling like burned hair and sugared almonds. “Keep going. I’m starved for gossip.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t suppress the faint smile tugging on my mouth. “I’m gentle compared to my sisters,” I protest weakly, knowing full well that Theia will see right through my halfhearted denial. “He’s … funny,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

I hesitate, the pressure of the ring on my finger suddenly feeling more intense than ever. “He’s loyal to his own, and thoughtful and kind in his own way …” I trail off.

You don’t get to be the martyr.

He stole it from me.

“He sounds scrumptious.”

“He’s dead.”

I think we had the same discussion about Evan. Wow, you found the one green flag left. Yeah, and then I killed him.

Theia’s expression softens, her carefree demeanor morphing with genuine concern. She reaches out, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go grab food. I’m starving.” She turns to her left. “Daisy, are you going to miss me?”

I ignore Daisy’s groan of anguish. “They didn’t feed you?”

“It never hit the spot.” She gives me The Look and shrugs it off. “Overall, it wasn’t bad. It was worse for those in their fertile cycle or anyone with diluted blood.”

“What?”

Again, her features drop. She points. “They were breeding them. I can smell it, can’t you? Some of these females are pregnant.”

Horrible, cold dread slithers down my spine. I shut my eyes and inhale. Catch the melding of scents among the prisoners. “It’s all from the same male,” I whisper. “I need to speak with Kleio.”

I stand, spotting the Queensguard commander tucked aside. She’s speaking hurriedly into a phone while shielded by her lieutenants, eyebrows drawn down.

The warriors in green stand apart from the former Diakonos, their heads bowed in hushed conversation. Their postures are tense, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons as if preparing for a fight. They studiously avoid making eye contact with the females.

You’re safe now.

A sinking feeling takes root in my gut. “Theia, we—”

“Let’s gather round,” Kleio shouts, silencing me as she stalks to the middle of the garage, returning the phone in her pocket. “Line up in rows for transport.”

The survivors shuffle into uneven rows, their movements sluggish and uncertain. I can see the exhaustion etched into their faces, the broken way they flinch at sudden movements and cling to each other for support.

I edge towards Theia, keeping my voice low. “I don’t like this. Something feels off.”

She nods, her gaze shifting between the line of seven Queensguard and the gathered Diakonos.

We’re near the rear of the group, still slowly converging.

My jaw clenches as I subtly lower to a squat and place my hand against a crack in the asphalt, straining toward the earth below. “Don’t,” I warn Theia as Daisy and the other females rise, shuffling forward. “Stay back with me.”

“Line up!” Kleio claps this time and the other Queensguard gather into rank behind her. The ground beneath me rumbles. The commander has her gun raised. “Kneel down. Press together to wait. Transport is coming.”

Leto and the others stare over the females, weapons in their hands.

Something’s very wrong.

“Back row. Closer.” A boot taps the center of my foot. Lydia’s dark brown eyes lock with mine. “Hurry along,” she says. “Don’t want to get left behind.”

I fake a smile. “I’m happy here.”

“This is for your safety.”

I stare up at her, the splotchy black aura. “You keep saying I’m safe. Then put the weapons away. We’re not armed.”

Lydia’s gaze narrows, her grip tightening on the hilt of her sword. “It’s protocol,” she states, manner unyielding. “For your protection.”

“Yeah, I just don’t believe you.”

I rise, pulling my whip from the earth my whip. A gift from Hades. The ultimate weapon of the Erinyes, lead and barbed and breathtaking.

Instantly, Lydia brandishes her sword, angles it for my throat. “Drop your weapon and kneel for your savior, the Queen of Mortals, Protectress Vinia.”

“Fuck you. I have a king and he’s never asked me to bow.”

I knock her sword away and arc my whip straight for the commander. Without missing a beat, Kleio shoots. The bullet nicks me in the biceps. I stumble. My whip cracks short of Kleio and snaps back towards me, it’s echo bouncing off the walls.

Pain radiates through me. How ichor beads down my arm. I’m so tired, so weak, so spent from mending my throat and holding Sin, I stagger backward, lose focus, box in and out of consciousness.

Trip.

The muzzle of Kleio’s gun is still hot when it kisses my temple. “Stay down,” she commands, and then shifts her gun to Theia. “Or the next one goes through her teeth.”

I freeze, heart pounding against my ribcage. Stare at the metal against Theia’s flawless brown skin. Her eyes are wide with fear, but beneath the terror, I detect a flicker of defiance, a silent plea for me to stand my ground.

But I can’t.

Not with Theia’s life hanging in the balance.

I clench my jaw, Sin’s ring burning like a brand on my finger.

I came so far, fought so tirelessly to find Theia. Sacrificed everything.

I drop down to the ground and let go of my whip. Theia’s hand finds mine in a silent show of support.

Kleio’s boot presses into my shoulder, grinding me further into the gritty asphalt. Humiliation stings through me.

“You should have listened.” Her voice drips with condescension. “Now you’re up first.”

Her gun cocks.

Followed by six others.

It’s not a rescue mission. It’s an extermination.