Chapter Seventeen

Whoever coined the phrase "time heals all wounds" was full of shit.

These last six weeks, all I've had is time . And nothing has healed. Not guilt I feel in dodging Jesse's calls and not answering his texts, nor the endless black hole of despair I've slipped back into since the summer.

I haven't seen or heard from Nick since that first Combat class. If it weren't for Scar feeding me tidbits of information that he's been a recluse and holed himself up at their Manhattan apartment, I would have thought Talbot made good on his threat and kicked him out of school.

Or worse.

The sun dips below the horizon, sweeping the hallways in rose gold dust. I trudge along, eyes on the floor, making my way back to Northgate after my last class of the day. My light footsteps are the only notable sounds in the otherwise empty corridor.

I'm once again drowning beneath waves of despair. My mission to unveil my Thread is at an impasse, and it's only a matter of time before the Moirai come for me. Zo has gone back to the library every single day to search for the book that fell to my feet, the one I dropped when the Harbinger attacked. I tried on several occasions to go to the library myself and was riddled with crippling panic attacks each time I made it a bit farther toward the library's steps, before shutting down completely.

A gnawing certainty in my bones tells me the book holds information I need, and only I can be the one to retrieve it. Still, I can't find the strength to step foot in the library, not even when Zo offered to help work through my fear the same way she'd done with Southgate.

Failure slams into my chest, suffocating me further. I pause beside a classroom with its door ajar, the implication of my faults stopping me dead in my tracks. Nick's life is on the line, and I'm too fucking scared and imprisoned by my own thoughts to do what needs to be done .

A violent hiss erupts from the Scylla, wrenching me back to the present.

A firm hand shoots out from the open door and yanks me inside. Another hand smothers my scream while I'm held tightly against someone's chest. Two masked figures face me, their identities obscured by black Greek theater masks, both mouths of the masks turned down in frowns. One kicks the door closed and the other grabs both my hands and wraps a set of heavy chains around my wrists. The perpetrator steps back and tilts their head, as though admiring their work. The chains seem to tighten around my wrist of their own accord, and I let out a muffled yelp of pain as the biting cold metal sinks into my skin. I struggle against a third who holds me.

"Is it done?" The person holding me asks, their voice harsh, familiar, and undeniably male.

The stranger who bound my wrist nods. My captor slinks around my body to face me, the hand on my mouth sliding down my neck and squeezing, cutting off my air supply. He backs me against the wall. His mask is white with the mouth split in a disturbing smile. Splashes of red paint streak below the crescent-shaped eyes, reminiscent of bloody tears. The area within the eyes is shrouded in darkness.

I reach for the Scylla, terror coursing through me when I'm unable to. There's an intense pressure when I attempt to channel my monster, as though it's once again being caged like it had been with the Moirai.

What the fuck is going on?

The stranger imprisoning my throat removes his mask. Sage green eyes stare back at me, burning with malice.

Fucking Silas, Kieran's cousin. I shouldn't be surprised the family shares the same despicable traits.

His mouth curls in a way eerily similar to the mask now atop his head.

"My gods. The terror in your eyes is like a fucking aphrodisiac." His twisted grin widens. "I bet you're wondering why you can't lash out with those beasts, aren't you?"

Even if I could speak, I wouldn't. I wouldn't give this motherfucker the satisfaction.

Silas's gaze flits to my bound wrists, then back up. "Prometheus's Chains. The ones used to bind him to that rock, while an eagle came and devoured his liver. It grew back every single night so that he could relive his torture again the next day." He presses his entire body against mine, driving me back against the wall. "Forged by Zeus, himself. And they suppress magic ," he says with morbid glee.

I struggle to breathe, but the sick fuck only allows an intake of small gasps of air - just enough to keep me conscious.

"It's time for you to pay, Rhi."

Oh fuck. This is a revenge plot for Kieran, who I didn't even kill. And this bastard waited six fucking weeks to carry it out?

"Our first Poisons class together had me thinking," he continues, "there has to be something that your body can't fight off, some poison that can break through your iron-clad blood. That's why we're here."

I take that moment to assess our surroundings. I'd thought it was just another classroom, but now I recognize the beakers and Bunsen burners, the vials filled with various colored liquids.

Shit.

We're in one of Wilde's labs.

I guess I should be grateful we aren't in the basement lab, because that one is filled with more toxic shit than the venom that runs through my veins. Nonetheless, my gaze falls to Silas's two still masked companions, who now each hold a crude-looking syringe in their hand.

Silas releases his hold on my neck briefly, and I suck in a huge gulp of air. The only reason I remain standing is the bastard's intrusive body pressed tightly against mine, consuming my breathing space, and then his fingers are around my throat once more.

"We'll start with the black vial. I'm so curious to see what that one does," he croons against my neck.

The stranger on my left comes forward, holding the syringe upright. A long, thin needle protrudes from the base, glinting harshly under the room's fluorescent lights.

I struggle beneath Silas's grip, but it's no use. Not only am I defenseless without the Scylla, but Silas is certainly channeling his own monster if his abnormal strength is any indication.

Silas lowers the hand on my neck a fraction, and without warning, a searing pain accompanied by pressure explodes from the spot on my neck. It feels like pure fire surges through my veins as the stranger continues to empty the black liquid into my bloodstream. My attempts to scream are futile, as my throat is hoarse and rough from Silas's hands around my neck. He releases his hold on me completely, and I crumple to the floor in an unceremonious heap.

"Pity. I was looking forward to your screams."

I peer up at the fucking prick through tears and will them to not fall. I will not cry. Instead, I reach deep within myself, within that well that harbors all that untapped rage and violence. Though my Scylla is still unreachable, shackled beneath the very physical chains that bind my wrists, something interesting happens: the chains loosen. It's a subtle shift, but I feel it. The stinging of the cold metal lessens.

Silas stares down at me with his head cocked in scrutiny. His expression reveals a sheen of disappointment.

"Nothing. Huh. Let's try the second one, shall we?"

The masked stranger to my right steps forward and I immediately notice a difference between this person opposed to their masked counterpart and Silas. This individual is leaner, shorter, and moves with a finesse their companions lack. Though all three are dressed in loose black clothing, the contrast in their demeanor becomes clear.

It's a woman.

Even the way she pierces me with the needle is more refined and less jerky than her male companion. My mouth opens, forming an ‘o' shape, though once again, no sound leaves my lips. This time, the fiery burning is replaced by an icy flood, freezing me from the inside out. It's a different kind of burning. Worse, in a sense. Fire consumes quickly and leaves nothing behind. Freezing festers slowly and keeps you horrifically aware right until the end.

I slump back against the wall, my head lolling to the side. Once the burning sensation subsides, nothing else happens. But between the initial attack, being chained, and then stabbed twice with gods knows what, I'm fucking tired. Even thinking of reaching within that well of wrath has my eyes heavy with exhaustion.

"Unfuckingbelievable." Silas huffs in aggravation. "Bring me something else. I don't care what the fuck it is." He stalks forward and hauls me upright by my throat.

The woman doesn't move, so the first masked stranger heads towards the back room to retrieve what I assume is another concoction.

He never makes it.

Instead, he pauses abruptly, like he's slammed headfirst into an invisible brick wall. His body convulses, jerking like it's being fed electrical shocks, before he crumples to the floor, unmoving.

The woman, whoever or whatever she is, flees through a window with speed like I've never seen. My brain stalls on guessing what kind of monster she is when blood trickles out of Silas's nose. He brings his free hand underneath his nostrils, eyes widening in shock at seeing blood coating his fingers.

"What the -"

If I could breathe properly, I'd gasp. More blood pours from eyes, then his ears, and finally his mouth. Silas sputters as he tries to draw in a breath, but it's no use. He's choking on his own blood.

An ominous feeling of déjà vu overcomes me.

Still, he doesn't let up his hold around my throat. If anything, it tightens, like he's using my neck as a lifeline.

Then I hear a sickening crack, followed by a piercing scream. Followed by another. And another.

Crack!

Scream.

Crack!

Scream.

The cacophony pierces my ears like a grotesque symphony, and it's then I realize that the fingers around my neck are snapping backward one by one.

Silas drops to the floor, clutching his right hand in his left. His screams echo throughout the room, his entire face painted a terrifying shade of scarlet. The chains on my wrist unravel and fall to my feet with a jarring clunk.

Nick appears suddenly, like he was born from the shadows cast within the dark corners of the room. My knees tremble at the undiluted power radiating from him. The same power I'd felt in my dorm room weeks ago, but there's a darker edge to it now. More than just raw anger. This feels sinister. Wrong. Almost…

Demonic.

Said demon stands between me and Silas, hands in his jean pockets. His black shirt is sculpted to his chiseled arms and chest, that same whorl of dark ink peeking under the sleeve of his left bicep. The veins in his arms bulge against his bronzed skin.

"What the fuck, Nick? What the fuck?!"

"What the fuck, indeed." Nick's voice croons. "Who told you you can put your hands on what's mine?"

A dark, electrifying thrill runs through me at the word mine, one that I have no business feeling given the current situation.

Visible tremors wrack Silas's body. "But…but…you act like you don't give a fuck about her! She tried to kill you!"

I wince at that reminder.

Nick faces me slowly, destruction brewing in his eyes. They narrow upon seeing my throat. He approaches me, and I can't control the shaking in my limbs as he reaches toward my neck. Nick's fingers caress the bruised flesh, his gentle touch so at odds with the deadly fire burning in his golden eyes. I continue to tremble beneath the stroke of his fingers, even more so when they dip to the hollow of my throat, and his fiery gaze meets mine.

Nick pins me beneath his punishing stare, and I barely notice that Silas is being dragged from his position behind us by invisible strings until he sits directly at Nick's feet. Nick reaches down with one hand and hauls Silas up by his throat. Only when the bastard is level with us does Nick turn his attention to him.

"Are those your fingerprints marking her neck?" Nick speaks low and calm, though his tumultuous undertone is anything but. It's a dormant volcano, ready to erupt and demolish everything in its path.

I involuntarily stroke my throat at the mention of Silas's fingerprints. Nick's gaze darts to my movements, and that's when I see the sheen of violence that washes over his features.

"Answer me," he growls in that demonic voice.

Silas swallows. "Y-yes."

The way Nick's mouth curls can't be called a smile. Nothing that terrifying can. "You touched what's mine. I won't let that go unpunished."

My feet are cemented in place, my arms plastered to my side. I've seen the monster in Nick, the one he was so scared of letting loose, and even then, I wasn't as frightened of him as I am right now .

Nick grabs Silas's right hand with his free one, eyeing his broken, backward fingers with maniacal glee.

"Don't you ever, and I mean ever , put your fucking hands on her again."

"I-I won't. I won't, I swear. For fuck's sake, I won't touch her!" The desperation in Silas's voice knocks me right in my stomach.

My mouth parts to tell Nick it's enough. To just walk away. But I glue my lips together to smother a scream when Nick's jaw unhinges, revealing rows of his monstrous, sharp fangs …

… and he devours Silas's entire right hand.

The sickening crunch of bone once again assaults my ears, as Nick tears Silas's hand at the wrist, then spits it out on the floor. Blood gushes from the empty space where Silas's right hand once was, and his cries from earlier are nothing compared to the blood-curdling screams mixed with agonizing moans that permeate the air now.

"You're right. You won't touch her ever again. That would be difficult without a hand." He goes nose to nose with Silas. "If I find you so much as breathe in her direction, you'll lose the other one." Nick releases Silas, who drops to the floor with a jolting thud and lies lifeless. Nick's jaw is no longer elongated, but blood coats his mouth and lips. Images of our night together flood my brain, how that night started with bloody mouths and hands and ended with me screaming his name.

He just tore someone's hand from their body with his own fucking teeth. My terror from earlier should be tenfold. At the very least, I should find this entire situation disturbing. Instead, I resist the urge to lick the blood from his lips and imagine him bending me over one of these desks.

Something is fucking wrong with me.

Nick steps over Silas's unmoving body. The rise and fall of his chest indicates he isn't dead, and his wrist is already healing. Though, unless he's a Hydra, he'll have to adapt to being a lefty from this point on.

I back up as Nick crowds me until I'm pressed against the wall. His palms rest on either side of my head, caging me in. "Are you afraid of me?"

I meet his unrelenting gaze. "No."

"No?"

I shake my head.

He gifts me my favorite smile. The one that causes me to lose all resolve when it comes to him. "Vicious, beautiful liar."

I ignore the delicious shiver that wracks my spine. "Why did you save me, Nick? "

His eyes dip to my lips, then to my throat, before latching on to mine. "I told you. I don't like to see you hurt, unless I'm the one hurting you."

My breath catches in my throat at the sinful promise in his voice.

"Besides," he continues, his mouth inching closer to mine, "none of this would have happened if you would have fucking listened to me and wore the necklace." He pushes off the wall, creating space between us. My body nearly screams at the loss of his warmth and proximity.

Nick shoves his hands in his pockets, that mask of perfect boredom sliding over his features. "Necklace or not, you're mine, Rhi. Keep that in mind the next time you threaten me with giving Jesse the honor of ruining you, because he'll be the next one to lose his fucking hands."

His words are like a physical slap in the face. Nick's smile widens, aware he hit his mark. "Stop being an insolent brat. Do as you're told for once."

Nick turns from me and heads toward the door. Silas still lies unmoving on the floor, but I pay him no mind as I step over him.

"I thought that's what you liked about me, Nick." He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. "I thought you liked that I don't take orders, and I do whatever the fuck I want."

Nick is silent for a moment, and I think he's going to leave without responding. But when his eyes meet mine, despondence and resignation hang heavy within them.

"You're wrong, Rhi," he says, his voice quiet and desolate. "I don't like that about you."

That familiar burning ignites in my chest and throat, scorching until tears gather in my eyes. Was I wrong, then? He doesn't like that about me. Or he used to and finally realized I'm not worth all of this.

Not worth his life.

I hang my head and drop my gaze so he can't see the rogue tear that slips free and slides down my cheek. A low gasp escapes my lips when Nick's finger is there and wipes it away.

"I fucking love that about you."

More tears pour from my eyes at his words, but when I lift my head to face him, Nick is already gone.