Chapter 22

Chapter

Twenty-Two

HARPER

F ood paraded in a steady stream behind my closed lids. Chicken. Pasta. Baskets of fresh bread glistening with butter glaze.

It was stupid to indulge myself this way. But I couldn't help it. Every time I closed my eyes now, food dominated my dreams. I'd given up wishing for freedom. Or dignity. Or even uninterrupted sleep.

No, I just wanted a bowl of mashed potatoes and a Diet Coke. My mouth watered, the hiss of carbonation sizzling in my ears. God, Diet Coke?—

"Harper?"

I opened my eyes, meeting my father's gaze across the cell. He sat against the wall, his knees drawn to his chest in a pose that matched mine. I didn't need a mirror to know our appearances matched too. The sweat stains on his shirt were darker than when I first saw him. His hair didn't stick up anymore. Now, it lay flat and slick against his scalp.

"Yeah?" I asked, my voice rusty.

Dad's throat worked as he swallowed. "Are you in pain?"

I tucked my right hand behind my left, hiding the dirty, blood-encrusted bandage Hector had tied around my pinky. "I'm okay," I lied. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

My father nodded slowly, but his expression told me he didn't believe me. We hadn't spoken much since Armand shoved us back in the cell. We both knew our conversations weren't private.

And it wasn't like we could hatch an escape plan. The metal door stayed shut except for the brief moments when someone thrust a bucket of water into the cell.

At first, I tried to mark time by how often the bucket appeared. But I couldn't figure out a pattern, and I had no idea how long Dad and I had been imprisoned. Two days? Four? Not a week, surely. Not yet. My hunger was still bearable.

But my hope for release was dwindling. Based on fragments of conversation that floated through the door, Armand was using me as bait to lure Einar into facing off with him in battle.

But Einar wasn't coming. Arlo's talk of fated mates was a distant memory.

My throat tightened. For all I knew, Arlo was dead. He'd gone wild after Armand took my finger, thrashing and screaming as he fought to break his bonds. Hector and the others subdued him, and the sound of fists thudding into flesh had followed me as Armand dragged me to the cell and dumped me inside.

"Strings," Dad said softly.

I startled, meeting his eyes. "You haven't called me that since I was little." The nickname was silly—the end result of him pretending he'd named me after all the instruments in an orchestra. He never got around to "harp," instead listing all the other options.

"No shoes in the house, Oboe."

"Daddy!" I'd protest. " My name isn't oboe."

"You're right. Put them on the shoe rack, Viola."

The game could last for hours, irritating my mother and making me laugh. Feigning defeat, my father would finally throw up his hands. " Fine! You win. I named you Strings."

Dad's smile was tired as he looked at me now. "It drove your mother nuts. I think I got all the way up to sixty instruments one time."

"She secretly liked it, though."

"Yeah. She did." My father stood. With a glance at the door, he crossed the cell and sat beside me.

I tensed, and I couldn't keep the tremor from my voice as I whispered, "They could come in."

"Let them," Dad said, putting an arm around me.

I rested my head on his shoulder, the weight of captivity easing slightly. We sat, wordless conversation passing between us. My father had been a journalist in war zones. He'd covered coups and civil unrest around the world. And while I didn't yet have my degree, I had enough journalistic training to understand the reality of our situation.

Armand didn't care if we talked. He wasn't worried about us scheming. And he didn't mind if we overheard him talking with his men. Because Armand didn't intend for my father and me to live. Our value as captives dwindled with every moment Einar failed to appear.

Eventually, our value would wilt to nothing. And Armand would kill us.

Dad tipped his head to the side, leaning it gently against mine. "Your mother always wanted more children," he said. "She was heartbroken when we couldn't give you a sibling. But then you grew, and we both realized we got it right on the first try. You're the best story we ever wrote."

Tears flooded my eyes. I drew a shaky breath. "I miss Mom a lot."

"Me too." He paused, and then tears filled his voice. "I've done so many things I'm not proud of. But I have never once failed to be proud of you. I love you, Harper, and when we get out of here, I'm going to do whatever I can to make you proud of me."

I lifted my head and looked at him. "I?—"

A boom cut the air. The ground shuddered, and the fluorescent lights overhead flickered. Men's shouts rang out, followed by pounding footsteps.

Dad and I struggled to our feet. A second later, the door flew open, and a frazzled-looking Hector filled the doorway. Snarling, he lunged forward and seized my wrist.

"Hey!" my father yelled. "What's going on?"

Hector backhanded him, sending my father flying.

"Dad!" I reached for my father, but Hector gripped my arm and dragged me from the cell.

I stumbled along with him, lightheadedness swarming me. Another boom shook the building, making the lights flicker again. We entered the main part of the warehouse, where chaos reigned.

Men shouted as they ran down the aisles. A werewolf on four legs streaked past us, its fangs bared and its fur coated with dust. More dust clouded the air. As soon as Hector dragged me around a corner, I knew why. Dozens of statues lay shattered on the ground.

Armand's shouts echoed from somewhere. "They're hitting the doors! Everybody to the front!"

Booted footsteps rang out. Through the gaps in the shelving, I saw men sprinting to carry out his orders. My heart soared. Einar had come. He was here, and it sounded like he had serious backup.

BOOM. Another impact shook the warehouse. More statues crashed to the ground.

As Hector dragged me past the debris, Armand appeared from around the end of the aisle. His eyes glittered bright gold. The pistol in his hand sent a chill down my spine.

"Where's the demon?" he shouted at Hector.

Hector gripped my arm more tightly. "You told me to get the woman."

For a second, I thought Armand might shoot Hector. "You fucking idiot! If the demon gets loose, we're all dead."

BOOM. The world tilted, and I staggered sideways. Hector's fingers bit into my arm, keeping me upright as statues crashed around us. A scream tore from me, and I tried to duck, but he forced me into a run.

I stumbled along, half-blind as a series of pops filled the air. It took my sleep-deprived brain a second to recognize the sound of gunfire.

We rounded another corner, and Hector yanked me to a halt.

"Don't fucking move," he grated, disappearing behind a stack of pallets. Dust motes swirled, and he lifted a bound and dust-covered Arlo still secured to the metal chair. Blood seeped from a gash on Arlo's forehead, forming a river through the grime on his face. Joy coursed through me as he blinked open his eyes.

Hector stepped back, then pointed the gun at Arlo's head.

"No!" I screamed, terror rooting me to the floor.

Keir appeared out of nowhere next to Hector. The vampire took one look at the cut on Arlo's forehead and then swayed on his feet. Hector jumped, swinging the gun in Keir's direction. With a hiss, Keir moved in a blur, yanking Hector into him and plunging his fangs into Hector's throat.

Hector's gun went off. On a nearby shelf, the statue of a cupid exploded.

"Harper!" Arlo shouted, drawing my attention. "Undo my cuffs!"

Heart pumping, I raced around the pallets. Keir continued to feast on Hector, who sagged in the vampire's arms.

Basic metal handcuffs circled Arlo's wrists. "I don't have a key," I said.

"You don't need one. It doesn't take much at all to hold me as long as my arms are behind my back."

"You're kidding."

"No."

Huh. "Well, that sucks."

Arlo craned his head, giving me an exasperated look over his shoulder. "Nearly limitless power, one major design flaw. Trust me, if I ever find myself in front of the gods, I'll have a lot to say about it. In the meantime, can you get the freaking cuffs off me?"

"Oh, yes. Sorry." I fiddled with the cuffs, pressing the release catch. The metal fell away, and Arlo sprang into action, tearing the rope from his chest and jumping to his feet.

Hector's eyes rolled back in his head. His skin turned gray, and his jaw went slack. Keir wrenched his mouth from Hector's neck. Blood trickled from twin puncture wounds over Hector's jugular.

"Oh…" Keir said, staring at the blood. He gave Arlo and me a watery smile, then slumped to the ground.

"He's fine," Arlo said, taking my arm. "He just fainted. We have to keep moving. I need to get to Einar."

A loud roar echoed through the warehouse. More gunshots rang out.

"I think we found him," Arlo said grimly. "Come on." We ran toward the sound of the fighting, dodging debris and shattered statues. As we reached the end of the aisle, a vast production floor stretched before us. Daylight poured through a pair of busted metal doors, flooding the space.

A battle raged, the scene like something out of a fairy tale. Or maybe a nightmare. Everywhere I looked, mythical creatures fought werewolves. Centaurs galloped with swords in their hands, their biceps flexing as they slashed and parried. A giant crow swooped above the chaos. Rolfe romped in bear form among the werewolves, sending them flying with broad sweeps of his paws. Leander stood behind a stack of plastic crates, his head ablaze. Goliath crouched behind him. When a werewolf lunged at the crates, Leander swiped a handful of fire from his head and lobbed it at the wolf like a fiery baseball.

In the center of everything, Einar fought in hand-to-hand combat with a werewolf in human form. They grappled, fists swinging and sweat flying. The werewolf was huge, but Einar fought like a berserker, seemingly anticipating the path of the man's blows before they could land.

But something wasn't quite right. The next time Einar swung his fist, his muscles bulged, a bubble of flesh swelling from his skin. The werewolf ducked, then landed a vicious uppercut to Einar's ribs.

Einar staggered back. He snarled, his mouth full of too many teeth. Patches of fur dotted his skin. He was losing control.

"I have to help him," Arlo said. He disappeared, then reappeared next to Einar.

A whisper of sound behind me made me turn. Everything slowed down.

Armand leapt from the dust, his eyes bright gold and his fangs bared. I spun, my heart pounding, but he caught me and pulled me against his chest. Fingers scrabbled in my hair, and then wrenched my head to the side. Oh god, he was going to shoot me. As I drew breath to cry out, pain exploded in my neck. Hot liquid spilled down my shoulder. My mouth stretched on a soundless scream, and I realized he'd bitten me.

Somewhere in front of me, a broken, wrenching cry filled the air. It was the sound a wounded animal would make—sorrowful and gutting.

Pain engulfed me. Vaguely, I was aware of Armand releasing his bite. He shoved me away, and the ground reared up. I hit hard, striking my elbow, but the pain didn't register. The fire in my neck was too searing to make room for any other kind of discomfort.

Armand stepped around me, facing Einar across the warehouse with the gun in his hand. Everyone on both sides of the battle stilled, all eyes on Armand.

"I took her finger, Rothkilde!" Armand shouted. "Now I've taken her life. And you'll watch her die in agony."

Einar threw his head back and roared. His body contorted, the gruesome transformation overtaking him.

Pain and sorrow punched through me. We'd lost. Everything was lost. Blood spread in a pool under my bent legs. With an odd sort of detachment, I realized it was mine.

Goliath sprinted from behind Leander. He skidded to a halt halfway between Einar and Armand.

"You won't touch her!" he yelled, his shoulders heaving. The markings on his face glittered like emeralds. Beautiful . Goliath was beautiful. I should have told him when I had the chance.

Armand gave a cruel laugh. "I already did, runt. The bitch is dead. She just doesn't know it yet."

High overhead, a giant crow wheeled over the crowd, its wings spread as it wove in and out of the rafters. No one appeared to notice.

Tears streamed down Goliath's face. He balled his fists at his sides as he glared at Armand. "You should have killed me when you had the chance."

The werewolves ranged around the warehouse laughed.

Armand aimed the gun at Goliath. "Good point. But better late than never, right? I'll do it now."

A crow's screech split the air.

Armand looked up as the crow plunged downward, plucking the gun from his hand.

Goliath exploded into a ball of fire. Around the warehouse, people cried out, ducking as the inferno roared twenty feet into the air. An enormous, green dragon rose from the flames. It flapped its wings, sending gusts of wind over the crowd. Rows of serrated teeth glittered like diamonds as the dragon opened its jaws and roared. The creature was glorious, from his emerald eyes to his lashing tail, which ended in a tuft of white, cotton candy fur.

Goliath. My heart lifted as the draft from his wings blew my hair back. His name fit better than I could have ever imagined.

He hovered in the air, his wings flapping and his narrowed eyes pinned on Armand. The werewolf staggered backward and almost fell.

"No!" he shouted, his voice high-pitched and frightened. "No, please!"

With a swift intake of oxygen, Goliath opened his jaws wide and spewed a stream of fire over Armand.

The crow screeched again, swooping from the sky. Myrna shifted in the air and stepped to the warehouse floor on two feet.

Armand screamed, his arms flailing as the fire consumed him. He staggered around, facing me. Skin melted down his face. His eyes went wide with terror. Then he dropped to the ground. Dead.

Goliath shot into the air, his wings spread wide and his talons tucked close to his body. With terror-filled cries, wolves ran toward the daylight that spilled through the broken metal doors. Fire streaked through the air and roasted the wolves before they could escape.

The battle resumed. Leander jumped from behind the crates, pumping his fist and grinning as he watched Goliath decimate the werewolves. The tide had turned.

But Einar was out of control. Stuck in his monstrous half form, he struck out at his own people, sending a centaur crashing to the ground. Arlo grabbed at him, but Einar shook him off.

Arlo's words flowed through my memory. " Fated mates are rare among lycans, but the histories tell of such matches occurring."

Pain consumed me. It spread from my neck through the rest of my body, every beat of my heart a new chapter in agony. As Einar continued to rage, I tried to stand. But my legs buckled, and I went back down.

So I crawled, memories of Einar flooding my mind.

"No one challenges me like you do. No one dares. Every time we argue, I walk away wondering if I should have kissed you instead."

"I don't hate humans. In fact, I find myself utterly entranced by this one."

"I want every drop of honey, sweetheart. Say yes."

"Yes," I said, my voice a whisper of sound. I clenched my teeth against a sudden chill that racked my bones.

Across the warehouse, foam flecked Einar's lips. He roared and slashed his claws at everyone who tried to get close to him.

I had to reach him. Cold crept through me, but I continued to crawl, grabbing at the floor and propelling myself forward. Spots danced in my vision.

Einar. I tried to say it, but my lips were numb.

He whirled toward me. And he stopped, his chest heaving. Raw flesh glistened between his exposed ribs. Chunks of fur sprouted across his body in patches, giving him the look of a dog with mange.

Pain seared me, but I kept crawling. After another second, I couldn't feel my legs. I had to reach him. I drew a deep breath.

"Einar!" My voice echoed in my ears, the syllables of his name rippling. "Come back to me."

Einar stared. His brow furrowed. Slowly, the madness left his eyes. In a blur of bone and flesh, he transformed. Suddenly, a buff-colored lycan stood before me, its golden eyes burning with intelligence. In another blur, Einar shifted to two legs. Nude, he rushed to me, collapsing on the ground and gathering me in his arms.

"Harper," he rasped, tears sheening his eyes. He held a shaking hand over my neck. "I…oh gods."

As the strength drained from my body, I reached up, just managing to brush my fingertips over his cheek. "Your eyes…" I whispered. "I like…the silver…best."

He grabbed my hand and kissed my fingertips. His tears splashed on my face, but I didn't feel them land.

"Harper," he said. "I love you."

I smiled even as the cold crept to my chest. "I love you, too." The cold reached my neck. Shadows clustered at the edges of my vision.

"Stay with me," Einar said, his tears falling faster. "You have to stay."

So cold. My teeth should have chattered. Instead, a curious sort of peace floated through me. Einar's face grew blurry. Sounds faded. I'd read somewhere that hearing was the last sense to go.

As the shadows took over, I drew one last breath. Because I had something important to say. I had to make sure Einar heard me.

"It was never the centaurs," I said. "It was you."