Page 39 of Divine Fate (Cursed Legacies #4)

38

MAVEN

As soon as we step outside our salt-protected apartment, I’m greeted by several dozen ghosts waiting in the hallway. Most look fresh, though some of them are slightly blurry—like the blue-haired young woman ghost who waves at me like we’re good friends as she drifts past.

She doesn’t seem in a hurry to get reaped and move on. I tried telling her my plan to see how long they’ll stick around the other day, when my quintet took off to get my heart without me. I’m not sure how much of my plan was lost in translation, but it seems like she’s been explaining the situation to the other ghosts, because none of them are particularly impatient as they haunt Everbound.

My entire quintet is dressed in regular clothes as we stroll through the hall. Although I appreciate the warmer temperature, I miss Everett’s beautiful frost patterns decorating the windows.

Pausing our trek through the halls, I look out of one of the vaulted castle windows.

Gods. That’s a lot of people gathered outside.

The refugee tent city surrounding Halfton has now spread to surround Everbound Castle. Now that the wintry weather is finally letting up, everyone camped outside seems to be in a good mood. Some of them look like refugees from other areas, here to take cover within Everbound’s etherium-powered wards. Other campers are Nether humans with muted gray skin tones, who are helping one another and sticking to themselves.

Further out, closer to the twisted Everbound Forest, the tents are all black. The figures I see walking around out there are dressed in black, too. Cult members, probably.

And then there are the human reporters.

I know they’re reporters because of all the cameras they’re holding, but also because Lillian stands out there in a light jacket. It’s obvious that she’s asking them to leave as nicely as she can.

One of the photographers says something and flips her off. The others laugh.

I don’t realize how hard I’m glowering at him until Crypt rests his chin on one of my shoulders.

“Shall I make an example of him, love?” he asks, kissing my cheek.

I glance at him, taking a moment to admire the silver flecks in those deep violet irises. He’s just so fucking handsome , but it irks me when I note the few remaining light and dark swirls decorating his neck. If I ask about his missing marks again, I fully expect another brush-off, and now is not the time.

Knowing how much my gorgeous incubus craves our deeper connection, I speak telepathically to just him. I don’t like it when people disrespect Lillian. Scare him, but don’t kill him.

His gaze transforms into a deliciously dark smirk before he vanishes. A moment later, the rest of my quintet and I watch as the Nightmare Prince appears just beside Lillian. He reaches out as if to shake the disrespectful reporter’s hand. The man is so shocked and wide-eyed that he extends his own hand as if on autopilot, his mouth hanging open.

As soon as Crypt grips the human’s hand, they both vanish.

The other photographers freak out. Meanwhile, Lillian glances back at the castle with a perturbed frown. I’m not sure if she can see us from this one window, but I wave anyway.

Crypt doesn’t reappear below, but the reporter does. He staggers out of Limbo, shoves his way out of the crowd of reporters, and throws up before falling to the ground in a shaking, sobbing mess.

“Sadist,” Everett murmurs, brushing my cheek with the back of his cool fingers to point out that I’m smiling.

“He deserved it,” I defend before sighing. “We’ll have to deal with the rest of them before getting to the cultists.”

“Easily done,” Silas says, raising his blackened fingertips glowing with blood magic at the ready. “I’ll hex them any way you like.”

“Freezing them takes less time,” Everett points out.

Baelfire shrugs. “Sure, but I bet lighting those intrusive, rude fuckers on fire and listening to them scream would make our little goddess smile again.”

Oh, my gods. Not a single hesitation to jump to extremes. They’re all so fucking unhinged now.

I love it.

But as much as I loathe the idea of being in front of more cameras, the reporters below are just another piece on the metaphorical chessboard.

When I was seven years old and so isolated in my hovel outside Amadeus’s citadel that I sometimes forgot what it was like to speak out loud, Lillian taught me chess. She carved the game pieces out of dead pieces of wood, drew a makeshift board with charcoal on the floor of my hovel, and taught me everything she knew. She said that her fae ex-husband had loved chess, and told me that if I looked at life like it was a chess game, I would be able to predict things and strategize much better.

Whenever I wasn’t playing chess with Lillian, I played it with myself. It taught me to analyze both my opponent and myself and look for every possible future attack and outcome. Those skills translated into outthinking and outmaneuvering anyone I faced during my training, and later on in Amadeus’s arena.

Once Amadeus has fallen and my quintet and I are left in peace, the reporters will have more to focus on as the world begins to repair itself. But for now, their biggest focus is going to be on me, whether I like it or not. Killing them off or harming them will lead to retaliations—or worse, my quintet being compared to the vindictive, selfish Immortal Quintet. I’d rather staple my tongue to another stake and get set on fire than be anything like those immortal assholes.

Right now, the world is overexcited about my return and will gobble up any detail these reporters feed to them, whether it’s true or false.

I’d rather they get the truth directly from the source.

“We won’t hurt them,” I decide just as Crypt appears back in the hallway. “I’ll answer a few questions and move on to the cultists.”

Everett grimaces. “Snowdrop, I’ve dealt with paparazzi and cameras and shit for years. Trust me, they won’t be fine with just a few questions or pictures. They’ll try to get too close to you.”

“Then I’ll introduce them to my ravens. Or ghosts. Or you guys. Or my new knife,” I list on my fingers before grinning at my worried quintet.

Baelfire squints. “How about…Cuttrina?”

“What?”

“You named your other dagger Pierce, so you'll need a name for your scythe-knife thing, right?” he points out. “This one can be Pierce’s girlfriend, Cuttrina.”

I grin. “Are we naming all my weapons now?”

“Why not, hellion? You can name all our cocks while you’re at it,” he flirts, brows bouncing.

Everett scoffs, cheeks turning pink already. “That’s a no. We’re not doing that.”

“Though if she did, she’d also have to name mine Pierce,” Crypt teases, blowing a kiss at me. “For obvious reasons.”

Asher Douglas gags loudly from beside us, making me realize he turned into this corridor while we were distracted. The big bounty hunter is making a face of disgust about what he just unwillingly learned about Crypt’s dick as the blue-haired girl ghost hovers up and pretends to kiss his cheek.

“I just came to see if you five finally dragged yourselves out of bed before the cult leader does something stupid,” he grumbles. “But please, for the love of all the gods, just stop being the fucking weirdest quintet I’ve ever had the displeasure of working for.”

Seeing him so uncomfortable, I can’t help but grin again. “Prude.”

“Hardly. I just really do not need to know anything about your quintet’s junk,” he shudders, gagging again before he turns to stalk out of this hallway.

As he does, I notice the top of a strange, shimmering golden tattoo peeking out from under the long-sleeved combat gear he’s wearing. The ginger has other smaller tattoos visible, but that one draws my attention. There’s just something about it.

Baelfire notices where my attention is lingering. “If you like ink, I’ll get some. Anything you want. I’ll even get all those weird, swirly tats Crypt has that you like so much.”

“For the last fucking time, they are not tattoos,” Crypt drawls, taking my hand as we continue strolling down the hall. His markings light up several times, but he carefully avoids showing any pain.

I still want to know what’s happening to them, I remind him telepathically.

Later, love. First things first, let’s deal with all your unwelcome admirers.

The moment we step outside of Everbound Castle’s main western exit, it’s an uproar. Nether humans clap and cheer, cameras go off, and people try to swarm closer to us. Luckily, hundreds of ravens have gathered on the tops of the castle. When the sinister birds see me outside, several dozen of them flock to me while the big one I’m fond of perches on my shoulder once again.

It’s an adequate reminder. The onlookers quickly step back to give us a wider berth as we stroll through the encampment toward the cluster of photographers already rushing to greet us.

Walking through an awed, excited crowd is strange after everything we were subjected to in the elite safe haven. Instead of people swearing, screaming, and spitting on me in repulsion, these humans and Reformists have fascination all over their features as they watch my quintet and me walk past. Some look excited, while others watch on in fearful awe.

The fresh rush of power inside my veins reminds me that aside from reaping spirits, my holy magic is now fueled by them revering me like this. But even more notably, my heart is pounding a lot as we walk through all these stares.

Stop doing that, I scowl at it inside my head.

Baelfire grins, scanning the awed crowd for any sign of danger toward me. She’s talking to her heart again.

Aww. Feeling nervous? Everett teases, moving to my side opposite Crypt to hold my other hand.

Is this what nervous feels like with a heart?

Ugh. Hearts are such fucking drama queens.

Finally, the reporters and photographers encircle us as closely as they dare to with my entire quintet and a conspiracy of ravens glaring at them in warning.

“Maven Oakley!” one of them shouts. “Over here! Give us a smile!”

Again, with the smiling shit? I look at that one, ignoring the flashing cameras as I let him know with my expression just how stupid he is for making that suggestion. He flusters and hides behind other reporters who call for my attention, talking over each other in frantic excitement.

“Are you happy to be back with your quintet?”

“Were you the cause of the Upheaval?”

“Is it true that you’re a demigoddess?” a third shouts.

Gods. Do they always ask such obvious questions?

“Someone ask something that we don’t all already know the answer to,” I sigh.

That was apparently the wrong prompt to give, because a woman steps forward who isn’t even trying to hide the fact that she’s checking out my quintet. She clears her throat, shoving a microphone toward me as she keeps her gaze on my four gorgeous matches the entire time.

“Maven Oakley. You belong to a nightmare-devouring half-monster, a prodigy turned necromancer, a dragon that breathes the hottest fire known to mankind, and a rich, nevermelt-wielding general. That’s quite the impressive quintet, not to mention their looks! You’re very lucky. How does it feel to have such raw power at your beck and call? Is your connection to Paradise the reason the gods blessed you so extremely generously with your matches?”

Hold the fucking phone, Baelfire growls through the bond. Did this bitch really just bring up all of our abilities except yours? Is she just ignoring the fact that you’re a fucking demigoddess?

I don’t have to look to know that the rest of my quintet is equally irritated by her wording, but I couldn’t care less about someone overlooking me.

Her real mistake is that she’s still drooling over my quintet.

Covering the microphone and moving it away so I can speak only to the woman, I give her a misleadingly sweet smile. “I don’t blame you for lusting over them, but if you look at what belongs to me again, I’ll hex you to piss shards of glass for the rest of your rapidly shortening lifetime.”

Her eyes widen and she retreats like her ass is on fire.

So possessive, thanafluir , Silas chuckles through the bond.

With threats like yours, who needs poetry? Crypt tacks on, squeezing my hand affectionately.

I’m struck with a sudden, strong urge to drag one or both of them aside to kiss them. Baelfire is still glowering over the people admiring us, and gods , I love his dangerous side. Everett, too, has my attention as he completely ignores the photographers subtly trying to take pictures of his beautiful, scarred face.

Pleasant heat tingles in my lower stomach. Maybe it’s because we were just all bound together again, but I’m already so fucking ready to be done with this so I can jump their bones again. It’s not like I can resist them for long when they’re so protective and handsome and mine.

Gods, I smell that and it’s fucking divine, Baelfire groans through the bond just to me.

Someone else steps forward to interrupt my possessive thoughts, eyeing the ravens around us nervously as he lifts a microphone toward me.

“M—Maven Oakley, we’ve heard quite a lot of rumors about you for six months. Some of those rumors have been clearly false, but with your recent return and the unexpected surges and attacks at the fringes of the ever-growing Nether?—”

I check to make sure my etherium knife is still in my boot where I left it, pulling it out to study the beautiful, clear blade. “Get to the point.”

Several of the reporters turn and run.

That made it seem like I was threatening them again, didn’t it? I realize.

Maybe don’t pull knives out in casual conversation, Everett suggests.

He’s clearly amused, as are the others. Crypt is outright laughing at me, kissing the back of my hand.

Finally, the reporter extending his microphone grows a pair, clears his throat, and asks, “Is it true that you’ve returned to bring about the end of the Upheaval?”

“Something like that.”

The reporters get excited, taking pictures and repeating variations of that question until one of them spits out, “How are we supposed to trust you? Aren’t you still the Entity’s scourge?”

I look at that one. “I don’t give a fuck if you trust me, but I am not Amadeus’s scourge anymore. I’m his reckoning.”

They’re still going wild over that when I spot Lillian approaching, trying to peek over the reporters to see me better. Deciding the world will have to make do with whatever pictures and shit they just got, I move forward, trying to get to Lillian. When one of the excited photographers gets too close for a close-up shot of my face, I instinctively flinch back from the threat of physical contact.

He’s immediately frozen in place, encased in such thick ice that it doesn’t shatter when Everett kicks over his newest ice sculpture and turns to glare at the cameras.

“Get out of my sight before you join him,” my elemental warns the reporters.

Gods, his scar makes him look so fucking savage. It makes my heartbeat pick up and makes me remember again all the deliciously wicked things he and the rest of my matches have spent the last day and a half doing to me in bed.

I want more of that already.

My ravens croak happily, fluttering about as the reporters scatter, fleeing to hide in their tents or getting lost in the rest of the makeshift living spaces surrounding the castle. Lillian is quick to move to my side as soon as the way is clear. Today, she’s dressed in a bright pink jacket and hand-painted, colorful floral jeans, along with colorful shoes.

Gods, she wasn’t kidding about missing color. My eyes hurt a little.

She sees me squinting at her and laughs, completely ignoring all of our fascinated onlookers as she reaches out to adjust some of my messy hair. “I’m not surprised you didn’t fall in love with colors as soon as you entered the mortal realm. You always did prefer plain black clothing.”

“Must be hereditary.”

Lillian laughs, but then turns more serious as she examines my quintet and me. They don’t know her as well as I do, but I can see she’s putting together how much better three of my matches are doing—and if their curses are broken, it can only mean one thing.

“You have your heart again,” she murmurs, beaming at me. “Good. These rascals left me completely in the dark after they returned, you know—they just kept saying you were resting as they spiraled out of control.”

“They’re hopeless like that,” I tease, earning a gentle poke in the side from Baelfire. “I’m fine, though. Better than fine—I just feel…right.”

“Being newly bonded probably helps with that,” Lillian notes before looking pointedly at my neck as if to remind me of something.

Oh, right. I forgot about the love bites I’m covered in from hours in bed with my matches.

An obsessive part of me loves that I’m wearing proof of my quintet’s attraction to me. I don’t care that it’s immortalized on camera. I don’t want everyone in the world in our business, but since they butted in, they get to know just how much I adore my quintet.

There’s no judgment in Lillian’s expression as she smiles at my entire quintet. “Now I can get to know all of you without those pesky curses. Oh—Baelfire, are you too warm in that jacket?” she adds with a frown.

I realize she’s right. My always-toasty dragon shifter is dressed in a brown jacket despite the spring-like weather finally thawing the outside world. Frowning, I start to ask why he put the jacket on, but then it hits me.

It hides his collar.

The one I put on him. The one shifters find so fucking humiliating.

Gods, am I the worst keeper ever? I should have noticed sooner.

Glancing at the refugees still watching us from their tents, I step closer to him. “Lean down. I’ll take it off.”

“Nah.”

“Baelfire, I should have taken it off sooner. Just?—”

Raincloud, I like wearing a collar you put on me, he says just to me through our bond, his golden gaze burning me. I like the leash, too. They make me feel more like I’m yours, as long as no one else sees them. Besides, with the newlybound urges so fucking bad this time around, I think it’s helping to calm me down since I can’t have you naked in bed for a little bit longer.

His newlybound urges are worse, too?

I wonder if the others have been experiencing the same thing. Before I can ask, Crypt disappears into Limbo without another word.