Chapter 30

Citizen Confinement and Perimeter Security Directive

Silver Edict #2

“The border ensures order, safety, and serenity. To transgress this boundary is to jeopardize the safety of the citizenry and is punishable by death.”

ARCHER

The beast inside of me swallows the lifeless boy’s soul, consuming his energy until every inch of me is buzzing with the high. Power like I’ve never felt before roils beneath my skin.

When the last ounce of his essence is drunk to the dredges, I tilt my head up to the ceiling, shuttering my eyes and taking a moment to enjoy.

This.

This is what I’ve been missing out by ignoring the call of death.

This is my purpose. My calling. It’s natural.

Wild.

Free.

Archer, an urgent voice whispers into my skull. Archer, what have you done?

My eyes fly open, and I scan the room, searching for the source of the voice.

Hungry.

So hungry.

For death.

The hellhound’s perceptive blue eyes pierce me like shards of ice.

Scathe.

Don’t make me bite you, you profound moron. A low growl reaches my ears as he pulls his lips back to reveal his sharp teeth. Snap out of it!

The high begins to simmer down, and I blink a few times.

The last few minutes come back to me. Now that I’m no longer numb, the electric zing coursing through my veins subsides, allowing the emotions to thaw out.

Guilt.

Regret.

Fear.

There is no beast inside of me, not actually. It’s only me and the part of my power I’ve stifled for so long.

Stuck in place, I stare down at the man at my feet. Tasia’s ex. Reed.

“Where is Tasia?” I ask Scathe, frantically searching the room.

The bar.

You let her go? I scold. You should’ve stayed with—

I’m your bonded, Archer. You are my concern.

Not wanting to argue with the hellhound, I locate my phone and dial Godric.

“Call Zeke. We need his services.” I tell him to come to Tasia’s, then hang up. Turning to Scathe, I ask, “Did anyone else see?”

No one is here. Scathe whines, low and dramatically. Your face—it’s normal now, but it changed. You weren’t…you.

A flicker of power buzzes to life inside of me, and instinct tells me I need to get rid of the soul I consumed. The sooner, the better. I’ve never done this before…never given in to the craving for death. I’ve always been strong enough to fight it.

Until her.

She is my weakness, and seeing her hurt is my undoing.

Without waiting for Godric and Zeke to show up, I dart outside and down the stairs to my bike. I situate Scathe’s helmet on his head before putting on my own, and then I take off toward Ma’s apartment.

My thoughts race as we fly down the streets, the buildings blurring past.

The boy would’ve died anyway. I didn’t actually kill him—only took his soul. I can still release it into the Wilds, free him, even though he doesn’t deserve it.

It’s not for you to decide what he deserves, Scathe says.

Get out of my thoughts, you meddling mutt!

I’m looking out for you, he thinks. I’m worried about you.

Gripping the handlebars tighter and leaning forward, I propel us forward faster, weaving in and out of traffic, mindful of the extra space I take up with Scathe’s sidecar.

I’ve always known I was different. When we were kids, it was clear that Godric’s magic was simple—he could make doors disappear, create illusions, ward objects. My power seemed weaker in comparison. But it was darker. Heavier. The scent of death on the wind. The gnawing hunger in response.

I was always afraid of following the rope and finding out what was tied to the other end.

I need to find the Reaper, I think to Scathe.

You are out of your damn—

He’s the only one like me. He can help.

Gritting my teeth, I pull into the alley beside Ma’s apartment and shut off my bike. Without taking off my helmet, I begin pacing. The hunger lingers, and I find myself sniffing the air, desperate for a hint of sweet anise.

I need to get this out of me, Scathe. It’s affecting me.

The only way I know to reach the Reaper is through death.

There’s no way I’ll kill someone to summon him. I can’t. Not an option. Especially not with this unchecked desire inside of me. I can’t guarantee I won’t ache for their soul myself.

“I’m not a monster,” I say, silencing the debate in my mind. It doesn’t even deserve contemplation.

What do I do, Scathe?

Listen to your intuition. What does it say?

“It’s untrustworthy,” I mutter. “It wants more—it craves death.”

Not your power—your intuition, Scathe amends.

Closing my eyes and leaning against the brick wall in the alley, I ignore the steady buzz of power and try to tap into my intuition.

Tasia is the first thing that comes to mind. I need her to be safe. Healthy. Happy.

Go to the bar, I command Scathe. Check on Tasia. Stay with her until I can find her.

There’s no way she’ll want to see me now. Plus, I don’t trust myself in this state. Not until I can relieve myself of Reed’s soul and subdue the ravenous beast within.

Scathe whines. I don’t—

Please, I say to him, squatting down to scratch his neck. His back foot thumps automatically in response as he leans into the scratches. He might be more intelligent than a typical dog, but he’s still a canine in many ways.

The mutt side-eyes me before relenting. Fine.

I take his helmet off, and he bolts away, around the corner and out of sight.

With that out of the way, I take my own helmet off.

“Okay, intuition, what do you say?”

When I first started learning about my power, I hadn’t met Godric yet. My ma and Sofia were both regular humans, so they couldn’t offer any insight. Things changed when Godric came into my life. Together, he and I discovered that being grounded in soil or around plants replenished our power, made us stronger.

In fact, it was the only way I knew to recharge…until now. Death makes me stronger than nature ever could.

Nature.

An idea forms, and I follow it. I felt pulled to my ma’s apartment for a reason, after all. Jogging deeper into the alley, I run my palm along the brick until I locate the secret door. Entering the space, I fly down the stairs until I’m in our underground greenhouse.

The place where Godric and I recharge if we can’t make it to Sweetcreek.

Something inside of me stirs. It rises higher, like bile, as if begging to come up and out of my mouth.

Then it stops.

It sinks back down into my bones.

It’s not enough.

I know what I have to do. I need to release the soul into nature, where it can rest. It needs freedom. Real nature. Beyond the city.

It needs the Wilds.