1. Maven

Growing up in hell,I was taught to appreciate a beautifully broad spectrum of pain. I was conditioned to have a high tolerance for it and learned it can be a great distraction. A tool.

Although right now, my world is nothing but pain—nothing but blazing agony emanating throughout my limbs and blurring every thought in my head until I"m paralyzed and delirious.

Which is why, at first, I"m certain I"m imagining things when I hear them shouting from some watery, distant universe.

"Maven!"

"No!"

An ear-splitting roar like a dragon"s is cut off suddenly by the sound of an explosion. I wonder if that explosion damaged me in some way. If it did, I can"t feel it over the agony encompassing everything else. There"s more shouting before I realize two of them are at each other"s throats.

"She"s in pain. I"m healing her. Move."

"She said no one. Lay a single finger on her, and I"ll rip it off and shove it through your eyeball."

Their fighting blends into the background as I hear a soft voice above me. Cool fingers stroke over my face tenderly, the only pleasant thing I"ve been able to feel since coming back with this damned poison scorching through my system.

"I"m sorry. This is my fault. I was selfish with you. Dear gods, I"m so, so sorry."

His broken whisper turns into a prayer to Galene, the goddess of healing. Which is how I know I"m more delirious than I thought. Because that one would never pray for me. None of them would because I was nothing but the target of a bet to them. This must all be wishful thinking in my poor, pain-addled mind.

The voices blur together. Someone snaps that they have to get me out of the room, and someone else is swearing profusely. There"s also nonstop screaming in the background…oh wait, that"s just me in my own mind. I can"t make my mouth move to make that sound, so I suppose I"m stuck with it echoing in my head.

Nightshade root powder is a bitch.

Finally, I reach my limit, and my mind starts to drift the way it always has when I"ve disassociated to deal with pain. I"ve been here many times—it"s my own particular form of subspace, free of my harsh reality. In this oblivion, there"s no looming, blood-oath-bound mission with a tragic end waiting for me. There"s no ache in my chest from naively allowing four gorgeous legacies to fuck me for sport.

Right now, it"s just me and my inner darkness.

So peaceful.

But when I rouse again, the excruciating pain is still coursing through me. The softness at my back must mean I"m lying on a bed, no longer in the headmaster"s office. I keep my breathing even and listen carefully. For a moment, there"s nothing, but then it sounds like a door opens.

There"s a quiet shuffling sound as if someone is setting things down, and then a hand brushes hair from my forehead. That hand drifts down to press just below my clavicle, the touch so brief and methodical that it doesn"t trigger my haphephobia.

Silas"s hoarse voice murmurs, "I don"t understand. You"re breathing, so where is your heartbeat?"

It"s obviously a question for himself, and I"m surprised by the raw frustration and vulnerability in his tired voice. Then he begins chanting in fae, and I know he"s casting a potent healing spell because my hair stands on end. But otherwise, I feel nothing.

Because only one type of magic can heal me, and it"s not blood magic.

That"s why I"ve been hell-bent on avoiding any situation where this might happen—because it just raises more questions I can"t afford to answer.

But he doesn"t know that his magic is useless on a creature like me, so he tries and tries. Again and again and fucking again. It"s a wonder he hasn"t died of blood loss himself at this point.

"Why can"t I heal you, ima sangfluir?" he whispers.

His desperation is…touching.

At least, it would be if my muddled brain didn"t choose now to remember Everett"s words at the inn.

We thought getting you in bed would be a challenge, but here we are. One day of fawning over you, and it opened you right up. Now we just have to decide who won their prize.

Assholes.

Someone else enters the room, and Silas"s formerly soft tone turns razor-sharp. "You still haven"t hunted today, therefore you"re still a threat. Get the fuck out before you hurt her."

Baelfire"s voice is guttural, unhinged. "I would never hurt my mate."

"As if your dragon leaves you with a choice. You were mid fucking shift when I hit you with that immobilization spell earlier. Between you and putting no less than nine hexes on that godsdamned DeLune to temporarily lock him in Limbo so Everett could get her back to this apartment for me to heal, my magic is annoyingly depleted. If you lose your shit again?—"

"She looked dead." Baelfire chokes and then breathes out slowly like he"s trying to diffuse a bomb in his head. "Of course, I lost my shit. I"m in control now."

"I"m not taking chances with her. Leave."

"If you think I"m leaving her in this fucking condition, you"ve lost more of your mind than you realize. Shut up and heal her already."

"I"m trying," Silas grits, and I feel his hand brush lightly over my hair again. "It"s not working."

I"m perplexed. If I was just a bet to them, why the hell do they both sound so worried over me right now?

Guilt. That must be it.

They must somehow feel responsible for this happening, and even though they"re descended from monsters, they can't handle the guilt. I cling to that reasoning, refusing to entertain any other possible reasons for their panic.

Because they hurt me. I can't let it happen again, so I carefully tuck all of my emotions away in a metaphorical cage in my chest.

Right now is about survival, not feelings.

"What the fuck do you mean, it"s not working?" Baelfire demands. "You"re a damn prodigy. I watched you turn raindrops into diamonds when you were seven. You just trapped Crypt fucking DeLune in Limbo—not even his immortal father has ever managed to do that. Why the hell can"t you heal?—"

"I don"t know," the blood fae snaps. I hear more shuffling and then a savage swear. "I need to feed to boost my magic. Give me your blood."

Bael growls, but a chair shoves backward, scraping on the floor. "Fine—for Maven. But you are not fucking biting me."

Through the hallucinogenic haze of agony clouding my brain, I listen to the sounds of them leaving the room, presumably to find something to collect Baelfire"s blood in. I find the fact that the proud Decimus is donating blood in such a fucked-up way kind of…morbidly sweet.

But that thought disperses as the familiar sensation of leaving tugs on whatever remains of my soul. The release is swift as I feel my body go cold, now completely incognizant of anything in the mortal world as I slip away.

Your first success is done.

Images flicker at light speed through my mind, a cacophony of randomly sickening scenes. Hordes of shadow fiends slinking through a maze filled with bloodcurdling screams. Rotting flesh. Green fire burning piles of corpses. Snow stained with blood and a dark throne made of bones—and, briefly, Lillian.

She"s still alive but bone-thin as she weeps over a fresh grave. I can practically feel her sobs rattling in my chest, and I want nothing more than to stand beside her to silently offer comfort.

Move on quickly, my telum. Fulfill your purpose, and they will be spared.

Reviving is slow and disorienting because I force myself to keep my eyes closed. But I have to because I have no idea how long I was gone or what I"m about to wake up to. If Silas and Baelfire witnessed me slipping away…

But no. I hear them outside this room still, talking and snapping quietly at each other. Peeking one eye open, I realize I"m lying in the enormous bed where I first explored Baelfire and discovered his praise kink.

Just thinking of that creates a twinge of hurt in my chest—but also, to my horror, warm goosebumps scatter down my arms.

Stupid fucking body. It"s been way too confused by them.

The pain is entirely gone now, which I find fascinating. From an objective standpoint, at least now I know that nightshade root powder isn"t listed among the handful of ways to actually kill me, even if it hurts like hell.

My head lolls to the right, and I squint at the closed curtains. Faint gray light peeks through them, telling me it"s nearly dawn. I"ve been under for roughly twenty-four hours, then. The bedside table next to me is crowded with every kind of spell ingredient known to the House of Arcana and several rags stained with drying streaks of blood.

Gritting my teeth, I try in vain to move again. My body is much weaker than it usually is after one of my episodes, probably thanks to the poison. I need to get out of here and disappear entirely so I won"t be caught and suspected of the headmaster"s assassination. I don"t have to worry about the winter solstice deadline anymore—my first target is dead, whether or not it was by my hand. Now, I need to start tracking down the others.

But I freeze as the image of the changeling standing over me comes back.

Kenzie.

I can"t leave. Not yet, not when I know that changeling got to her. I need to figure out whether she"s dead or alive—and if she is alive, there"s a very high chance that the changeling has her hidden away somewhere to use her as a feeding source.

Changelings are uncommon monsters. They're intelligent, but they lack emotion and loyalty. If they have time to observe a target, they can mimic that person down to the slightest mannerisms, but to survive, they must feed on other people"s memories. So there's a high chance it has Kenzie stashed away, slowly feeding on her mind until she"s nothing more than a blank slate.

Just a husk of who she was.

Unexpected emotion clogs my throat at the thought of losing Kenzie in that way. Still, I hope that"s the case because at least it would mean the bubbly lioness shifter might still be alive. A surge of anger and bone-deep determination washes over me, finalizing my decision.

If Kenzie is alive, I"ll find her. The rest of my tasks will wait.

Not to mention, I have to kill that changeling to cover my own tracks since it now knows what I am. I can"t count on a faithless changeling not to tell the fucking Legacy Council that the telum is at Everbound University.

But first, I have to get the hell away from these legacies who hurt me.