7. Alina

Oh,good. More white.

Because why would there be any other colors here?

When I think of monsters, I think of darkness. Blood. Cruel fates. Not white. And yet this box we're currently in—an elevator, I believe—is as pristine as the platform we just left.

One of the Protectors presses his palm to the wall, causing a panel to appear. "Ground floor," he says, his voice deep.

Not Timothy, I think. But that thought doesn't bring any relief with it because there are three other Protectors in this contraption with us, and one of them is Timothy.

Or rather, it sounded like him earlier.

Okay, but if it is him, what can he actually do?I ask myself. The portals will be opening soon, and then I'll be monster bait.

Maybe he's just trying to scare me? A final punishment from the Viscount before I'm released into Monster City?

My knees lock as the room—elevator—begins to move, the sensation foreign and unsteady. I nearly reach out to Bartholomew for support but curl my fingers into a fist instead as I regain my balance.

Discomfort tugs at my ears, suggesting we're moving upward quickly.

That explains all the white walls,I think numbly. The scenery had melted into concrete sometime while I'd slept, suggesting we'd ventured underground. But the pressure on my head now tells me we were much deeper than I'd realized.

I've only ever felt this sensation one time before—when I was driven up into the mountains for my parents' funeral ceremony. There were several families involved, all of us having lost loved ones in the same accident.

My nose twitches, the scent of smoke tickling my senses. It's a sensory memory, one I know isn't real. But I swear the acrid stench of burning flesh is forever burned into my nostrils.

Not a good time to reminisce, Lina,I tell myself as the elevator dings and the world stops moving. Focus on running.

Because if I'm caught by a monster, I won't be able to find my sister.

I don't care what the Duke told me about potential matings and monsters being kinder than my village. All I want is to locate Serapina.

I picture her in my mind, her golden-blonde hair and crystal-blue eyes such a stark contrast to my darker features. We don't look like sisters at all apart from our smaller stature and pale skin. However, looks can be deceiving. Our souls know the truth. She's always been my other half. It nearly destroyed me when she was chosen.

But her note changed everything.

I'm here,I want to tell her. I'll be with you soon.

Just thinking of my purpose has my spine straightening, my head lifting, and my eyes instantly focusing on our surroundings as we step out of the elevator into a massive room with glass all around it.

Glass walls.

Glass ceiling several stories above my head.

Glass doors.

Glass everything.

And beyond it is… a scene I barely comprehend.

Trees intertwine with metal, creating an architectural design that's so unique I can't even begin to define the structures outside.

It's nighttime. I think. Because there are lights illuminating the streets and the remarkable buildings waiting for us beyond the glass.

Bartholomew and Miranda appear to be just as enthralled as I am as we're led through the doors, our gazes instantly following the spirals upward into the sky. I've read about skyscrapers. But these… these are something else entirely.

They remind me of massive trees with metal trunks and branches, decorated with green leaves. It's unworldly.

Monsterly, I correct, reminding myself of where we are. Monster City.

Of course the architecture here would be different from that of my village back home.

The sudden understanding dampens my intrigue, allowing my gaze to return to the street. There are a dozen or so other people here, all dressed in outfits similar to my own.

Meanwhile, the Protectors have created a line by the all-glass building I just departed from, their defensive stances making their silent command clear—you shall not pass.

That's fine.

I intend to find a map, not hitch a ride on a train.

"Twenty-five minutes," a feminine voice announces. I scan the crowd for the source, but I don't see anyone with a microphone. Although, that voice sounded like it came from the sky. She also said twenty-five as opposed to five-and-twenty.

Because the monsters prefer that style of telling time,I think, recalling what the Duke said right before he departed.

I glance up again, wondering if perhaps the monster is hanging off a building somewhere. Or maybe even flying above us. However, a flurry of enthusiastic chattering distracts me from my search. A trio of girls push through one of the glass doors to join us, all of them tittering at one another as they glance around with obvious intrigue.

They're dressed in corsets and gowns, like me. Although, their hair is tastefully braided over one shoulder, not piled on top of their heads like a wild bee nest.

Much more practical.

What isn't practical, however, are their giggles. They appear to be… excited.

Meanwhile everyone else is looking a little lost.

"Are these all other Offerings?" Miranda whispers, her words seeming to be for Bartholomew, not for me.

He gives her a stiff nod. "From the other villages."

"Oh." She swallows, her blue-green eyes dancing up and down the street. "Are we…?" She trails off as she catches her lip between her teeth and glances at the row of Protectors.

They don't seem to care that she's talking. Just like they're making no move to stop the happy trio walking in our direction.

"Two blocks," one of the girls is saying as her group waltzes right by us. "That's where the Ozamique Portal opens."

"I know, Gretch," the other replies. "We studied the same maps that you did."

Maps? I think, suddenly very interested in their conversation.

"Yeah, yeah," the one called Gretch returns. "But you're hoping to seduce a Shadowfen and be taken to the Blight Realm." The slender woman shudders as she mentions the last two words. "Good luck breathing underwater."

"They have vessels," the one mutters as she flips her long black braid over her shoulder. "Or something like them."

Gretch snorts. "You're just hoping to live in some sort of glorified water palace."

"I don't think the monsters pick us based on our preferences," the third one in their party informs them both. "We're meant to suit their needs, not the other way around."

"Oh, not this again," Gretch groans, her voice growing distant with each step the girls take. "I'm so tired of this lecture, Playa. It's a mutually beneficial arrange…"

I strain my ears to hear more, but the trio has turned down another road, leaving our street entirely.

Frowning, I glance at the Protectors, wondering if they're going to go after them.

They don't.

In fact, another group walks in the opposite direction and heads down a different street, and the Protectors don't even flinch.

Bartholomew and Miranda are engaged in some sort of quiet conversation about expectations, both of them oblivious to the movements of the others.

They don't even seem to notice as another trio leaves the glass building. This one is composed of two men and one female. They all share looks with each other, nod, and go separate ways.

My lips curl down even more as they walk off with purpose and no one stops them or says a word.

Did you notice this behavior, too? I wonder at my sister. Did you follow one of them? Find a map? Run off to the Elite City?

It seems probable.

It also feels like a solid plan.

I take a step away from Bartholomew and Miranda, then glance at the Protectors once more.

No one notices me. Or, if they do, they don't appear to care.

I move a few more paces backward.

No comment. No retaliation. No reaction whatsoever.

Okay…

I turn around and walk toward the road the three girls ventured down. Maybe I can catch up to them and ask about their map.

With my head held high, I pretend to know what I'm doing and trail after the strangely eager trio.

It's not until I've turned onto the street—where I don't see any sight of the giggling girls—that I realize Bartholomew and Miranda are following me.

But no sign of any pursuing Protectors. Good.

Bartholomew arches a brow, his expression silently asking, Now what?

Shrugging, I keep walking, deciding to test the boundaries of what is and isn't allowed.

When nothing happens, I just… keep going.

And going.

And going.

All the buildings look similar with their metallic sidings mingling with greenery, only there appear to be windows, too. Lots of windows.

I pause to peer inside one, curious.

But it's too dark for me to see.

"What are we looking for?" Bartholomew asks, his deep voice low and close to my ear.

I didn't realize he was attempting to look through the glass as well, his movements oddly quiet for such a large guy. I'd almost expect the ground to shake with each step. But instead, all that muscle is encased in a sleek and stealthy package.

"Alina?" he prompts, glancing at me with his light-colored eyes. "Are we looking for a place to hide? Or something else?"

"I like the idea of hiding," Miranda says softly.

He ignores her, his focus on me.

I clear my throat. "I…" I pause.

I was about to admit that I have no clue what I'm doing, but an idea smacks me across the face in the next blink.

"Um, those girls mentioned a map…" I trail off, searching for any signs of recognition in Bartholomew's and Miranda's features. Because maybe they know something about a map, too.

Alas, all they do is stare at me and wait for me to keep talking.

Hmm. "I think finding a map might be useful," I conclude, shrugging. "Those girls seemed to know where to go, and obviously the Protectors aren't going to guide us. So…"

Bartholomew and Miranda continue watching me for a beat before the big guy slightly nods his head. "That's a good idea."

"Yeah," Miranda agrees.

I release my breath, relieved. Probably because it's nice to have some help. And I'm glad I don't have to explain the real reason I want to find a map.

"Well, it's not in there," Bartholomew adds. "All I see is a bunch of green-skinned men with massive horns drinking at a bar."

I blink at him. "What?" He gestured at the window while he spoke, making me peek through the glass again. "I don't see anything."

Miranda follows suit, her brow furrowing. "Neither do I."

Bartholomew glances between us, then at the building beside us. "You don't see the monsters?"

Miranda and I share a look, then shake our heads.

"What about the ones in the diner over there?" he asks, pointing to another dark-windowed building.

"Diner?" Miranda repeats.

"Yeah. Where the neon sign is," he replies.

"What neon sign?" Miranda and I ask at the same time.

His brow furrows. "The giant one that says Diner across the?—"

"Fifteen minutes," the feminine voice from overhead interrupts, sending a chill down my spine.

"Shit," Bartholomew mutters. "We need to move."

He doesn't pause to debate what we all can or can't see, just turns toward a darkened alleyway and starts walking.

The direction certainly isn't my first choice, but his vision here seems to be clearer than mine, so I let him take the lead.

He pauses every now and then to peek into windows, wincing every time. When I look, I see nothing.

My stomach churns with each passing minute, the hairs along my arms dancing on end every time that feminine voice speaks from the sky.

"Ten minutes."

"Five minutes."

"One minute."

"Fifty-five seconds."

"Fifty seconds."

Bartholomew yanks open a door to his left and steps inside. Miranda hesitates. But I don't. Being in a building sounds better than standing in this alleyway.

Although, the inside leaves a lot to be desired. It's just… empty. And way too clean, just like everything else in this city.

No dust. No cobwebs. No dirt. Just pristine floors and walls.

At least it isn't white.

"Forty-five seconds," the voice echoes through the room, making me wince.

Bartholomew glances all around like he's searching for the source, his gaze wild.

"Forty seconds."

Miranda's eyes well with tears, her stance remaining unsure in the doorway. "They're coming. They're coming. They're?—"

"Thirty-five seconds."

Miranda collapses onto her knees, causing Bartholomew to run to her.

I back away slowly as he lifts her into the air, carrying her inside with hushed whispers against her ear. These two must have known one another prior to the Day of the Choosing. It's written in their body language and the way he's able to calm her now.

In another life, I might have asked questions.

But not in this one.

Not with that voice counting down over our heads.

She's going second by second now, her voice piercing my every thought and weaving ominous energy through my veins.

"Twenty."

"Nineteen."

"Eighteen."

I shake my head, wishing she would stop. There's absolutely nowhere to hide in this large room, and I'm not entirely convinced it's truly as empty as it feels. But Bartholomew is too busy with Miranda to provide any insight. His lips whisper across her cheek to her mouth, their kiss oddly sweet in this dangerous environment.

"Ten," the voice says. "Nine. Eight…"

Bartholomew wraps his arms around Miranda and holds her close, the two of them lost in an embrace that leaves me feeling very out of place.

This is their moment, not mine.

I… I need to…

"Five."

Run, I think. Hide. I can't let any of them catch me.

"Three."

Shit!

I dart toward a hallway inside the building, hoping to find a smaller room with furniture or something to hide behind.

"Two."

There's nothing.

"One."

Static electricity crawls over my arms, making me freeze as a humming sound rolls over my senses.

Then…

Silence.

I barely breathe, my ears straining to hear more.

Growls. Screams. Angry cries. I expect to be inundated with all of the above, yet… there's nothing.

My brow pulls down as I slowly glance over my shoulder, half anticipating a drooling monster to be right behind me.

But I'm alone.

No sign of Bartholomew or Miranda. No hint of sound.

Have I gone deaf?I wonder numbly. What's going on?

I cautiously retreat back down the hallway to find the large room completely empty.

Did they run?I marvel, looking around more frantically now. Did they find a place to hide?

My lips part, their names almost leaving my mouth. But I instantly swallow the instinct. They're fending for themselves. I need to do the same.

Turning back around, I head down the hallway with measured steps, trying my hardest not to make a sound. It's just too quiet in here. It's eerie. Like I'm lost in some sort of sequence or countdown that I can't quite hear or feel.

Energy flows across my being, the kiss of it oddly familiar.

Something is coming.

No. Not something. Someone.

I'm not sure how I know that, but the knowledge causes me to freeze once more.

A masculine scent touches my nose, demanding that I inhale.

Fir trees on a warm summer's night. Bliss.

Ohhh… I like that.

My eyes fall closed, some part of me instantly at ease. Comfortable. Pleased.

Want,I think. No. Need.

I need more.

To find the source.

To lose myself in?—

A hand clasps around my throat, yanking me out of my delirious state. A scream locks in my chest, the lack of air making it impossible for me to release the startled noise.

And I stare into a pair of familiar brown eyes.

Threat.

"Thanks for making this so easy, Alina," he drawls, slamming my back against the wall.

I can't even reply, my ears ringing from the impact of my head meeting the hard surface behind me. My lungs scream in protest at the lack of oxygen, too.

It all happened so fast.

Toofast.

And now my vision is swimming with spots.

What the hell just happened?

One second I was lost to a strange scent and now… now I'm?—

"Don't kill her," a deep voice demands. "The Viscount wants her untouched."

"She's fine," Threat—Timothy—snaps back.

"She's turning purple, T," the other guy growls. "Let her go."

Timothy mutters something under his breath that I don't quite catch, and the world suddenly shifts. My knees protest, shooting pain up my spine as they crash into something hard.

The ground?I marvel, falling to my side on a wheeze as I grasp at my aching throat. I curl into a ball, only to find myself being handled once more as someone jerks me up off the floor.

I yelp, my head stinging from my hair being caught in a fist.

"Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?" the one guy barks. "What part of untouched don't you fucking get?"

"He wants her virginity, Mark. He couldn't give two shits about her actual condition beyond that," Timothy replies as he roughly positions me in his arms. "Stop worrying about me and worry more about getting us underground. We need to get on the train."

Train?I repeat groggily. No. No, thanks. I am not going back.

Some part of that thought seems to kick my reflexes into gear because suddenly I'm squirming and fighting for this guy to release me.

He hisses words at me I barely understand, my instinct to escape overriding all thought and comprehension. All I can think about is freedom. I need to get to my sister. To find a map. To run.

The man—Timothy—grunts as my knee connects with his groin, my feet somehow on the floor.

I shove myself away from him, my shoes slapping on the ground as I make a run for it.

Only for my hair to be caught in a fist once more.

I scream, furious at this ridiculous outfit and the impracticality of it all. Furious at the man grabbing for me. Furious at this world and the dark fate taunting my every breath.

"Let me go!" I demand hoarsely, my hands flying aimlessly. Recklessly. I'm a ball of fiery limbs and newly released fury.

Yet all I seem to be doing is ripping my own hair out.

My scalp burns, followed by my cheek as I'm shoved up against the wall once more.

Fingers dig into my hips, a palm wraps around my sore throat, and tears stream down my cheeks.

"Just knock her out!" a man shouts. I'm not sure which one. I'm too busy trying to break free of this impossible hold.

I won't go down easily.

I won't just allow this to happen.

I won't?—

I blink, darkness overwhelming my last… last thought.

Give up,I think, finishing the phrase.

Only… only it sounds like a man's voice. Breathed against my ear. Tainting my mind. Ruining my fight. Overcoming my… resistance.

"You're going to regret that, whore," he says ominously.

A vicious snarl answers that comment, one I feel vibrating every nerve inside me.

Yet I'm not the one who released that sound.

Something else did.

Someoneelse.

He's here,I think, dizzy from a realization that I don't quite understand. But somewhere inside me, I just… know. Because I can feel him.

No.

Not just him, but them.

What…?

I blink.

And suddenly my blackening world resembles shades of red.

Blood.

Growls.

Death.