Page 54

Holy Freaking Hell No

“O uch.”

I try to sit up, and agony flashes through my skull, followed by a searing pain in my throat.

I’m not dead. That much is clear, but not much else.

Why aren’t I dead?

I collapse back to the ground, count to ten in my head, and the pain fades to a dull ache. It comes back to me. The argument with Khaosti, though perhaps "argument" isn’t the right word. Running away. Trystan, the idiotic asshole, pushing us outside the wards.

I blink open my eyes. To darkness. Night has fallen completely while I’ve been unconscious. I’m lying on my side on the ground, my cheek pressed against the bare dirt.

“Good. You’re awake. About fucking time.”

I turn my head slightly and spit out the dirt that has somehow found its way into my mouth. Trystan—very much alive by the look of him—is seated on the ground, his back against a broad tree trunk, long legs stretched out in front of him.

Did he fight off the shadowguard and save me? But somehow I can’t make that explanation gel in my head. Apart from the cut on his shoulder from Nightfall, there’s not a mark on him. Maybe something made the shadowguard run off and leave me alive, if not entirely unharmed. Everything hurts.

I struggle upright, which is hard because my hands are tied in front of me, my wrists bound tightly together with rough brown rope. Another rope is tied around my ankles with enough slack to allow me to walk.

We’re in a small copse of trees. They smell like pines. As I stare at them, I make out the gleam of crimson eyes all around us. Shock punches me in the gut. And dread uncurls in my belly. Why the hell is Trystan sitting, looking seemingly relaxed, and very smug, while we’re surrounded by the stuff of nightmares?

My mouth floods with saliva, and I swallow and lick my lips. I presumed Trystan was taking me to Khaosti’s father. Now that seems unlikely.

Hatred rushes through me.

Bastard.

“Why?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Khaosti wasn’t going to leave that place or you. You’ve bewitched him, so I took matters into my own hands.”

“I don’t think much of your new friends,” I croak.

He gives another shrug but doesn’t answer.

I go over in my head what I know of the shadowguard. They’re guardians who have given their loyalty to Lucifer in exchange for immortality. Which likely means that Trystan is working for Lucifer.

“What are you going to do with me?” I ask.

He presses his lips together and studies me for a minute. “Apparently, you have the location of something that belongs to my… employer. He would like to have it back.”

“You’re taking me to him?”

“Unfortunately, that’s not possible. I’m to extract the information from you.”

Except Hecate says it’s impossible to do that because my memories haven’t come back. “How?”

“I’ll ask nicely. Then I’ll ask not-so-nicely. He wants you alive, but other than that…”

“I won’t tell you.” Can't tell him, more like it, but maybe I should keep that to myself for now. Presuming, of course, that Khaosti hasn’t revealed my lack of memories. Maybe Trystan will decide I have no worth if he doesn’t believe I can lead him to the mirror. Because I know that’s what he’s talking about.

He just gives me a nasty smile. “Maybe my new friends”—he waves a hand toward the watching shadows—“will help me. They don’t like you—apparently, you’ve caused them no end of trouble. And everyone breaks.”

Sweat oozes from my skin, and a shudder ripples through me. I’m sure he’s right. I don’t think I’ll do very well under torture. My mind shies away from even thinking about it. Except I don’t know where the freaking stupid mirror is. He can torture me as much as he likes, but it will make no difference.

Why the hell did I run? Why didn’t I go back to the house? Because I’m a freaking stupid idiot. And I was angry and hurt and… heartbroken. Because Khaosti made it clear he doesn’t care about me, and I’m falling in love with him.

What’s the point in going over it? It’s done.

I’m bound up tight and surrounded by shadowguard, and likely on my way to an extremely unpleasant fate. I want to ask why the bastard doesn’t get on with the torture thing, but I don’t want to put ideas into his head. Maybe he thinks there might be someone coming after us and wants to get as far away as possible before he gets down to business. But I doubt anyone is coming after me. They probably haven’t even realized I’m not there.

I glare at Trystan. “Khaosti will come after you. He’ll kill you.”

“I think he’ll be too busy to do that. If he’s still alive, that is.”

Shock flashes through me. “What did you do?”

“After we had you trussed up, I knocked out the wards and let a few of my associates in.”

My chest tightens. I think about all those innocent people back there—Erik and the others. Are they still alive? Is Khaosti alive? Though I suspect he’s more than capable of bringing down the shadowguard, especially with Thanouq at his back. What about Hecate? I have to presume they’re okay because, otherwise, I can’t think straight. But Trystan is right; likely they’re too busy to come after me right now, even if they have noticed I’m missing.

This is down to me. I can’t expect help from anyone else. I’m on my own.

It’s over. I’m as good as dead, and I’ll likely never know why.

“You’re working for Lucifer. Why? What do you get out of it?”

He smiles. “Khronus’s throne. I get to rule the Astral Plane.”

“Quite a step up for someone who’s little more than a servant.”

Something dark twists his expression; he jumps to his feet and closes the space between us. Lashing out, he kicks me in the stomach. Agony shoots through me, and I curl into a ball, waiting for him to strike again. When nothing happens, I open my eyes and stare up at him, not trying to hide my hatred.

“Get up,” he says. “We’re moving out.”

I’m not sure I can get up. There’s a burning pain in my belly, as if something has ruptured.

“Now,” he snaps.

Biting my lip against the agony, I roll onto my hands and knees and use my tied hands to push myself up. I wobble a little but then stiffen my knees.

Trystan points. “Walk.”

I walk. Trystan follows close behind me. There’s a whisper of movement, like leaves rustling, and I glance back over my shoulder. The shadowguard are following; they seem to flow over the land.

I stumble, and Trystan prods me in the back. “Watch where you’re going. I’m not fucking carrying you again.”

I face forward and walk, taking stock of myself. My head aches; I suspect that’s just a reaction to the shadowguard being close by. My brain clearly doesn’t like them. My throat hurts, but at least the searing pain has faded a little. I remember now—one of those things clawed me. I reach up with my bound hands and encounter some sort of bandage. I hope it isn’t poisoned like the last time, though it still hurts.

My stomach hurts as well, but the pain is lessening. Can I make a run for it? I’m fast. But not hobbled like this. Maybe when we stop, I’ll get a chance. Hopefully, before the torture thing.

I don’t know how long we walk, but I’m stumbling with exhaustion by the time Trystan lets me rest—so tired that I crumple to the ground. My whole body aches, and I’m desperately thirsty, my mouth parched and my throat sore. We’ve walked through the night, and dawn is not far away. There’s a thin line of light showing on the horizon. I can’t help but wonder if this will be the last dawn I ever see.

Trystan must realize that I won’t be able to go on if he doesn’t at least give me water. He hands me a mug, and I force myself to sip it slowly. He doesn’t offer me any food, and I ignore the gnawing hunger. I close my eyes, and sleep takes me.

I’m warm and cozy and happy. And small. Maybe four years old. A woman stands over me; it’s Hecate, and she’s smiling, though there’s a sadness in her eyes.

“I love you. But you have to go. It’s no longer safe for you here, but I’ll think of you every day.” She leans down and kisses my forehead. “Never forget you’re special. So special. And you’re good. Never let anyone tell you otherwise. One day you’re going to make the world a better place.”

Something nudges me in the middle, and I wince as it hits a sore spot. I blink open my eyes. The thing is Trystan’s boot.

I’ve clearly slept through any chance of making a run for it. And I’d like to say I feel refreshed and ready to go, but I actually feel like complete shit.

He hands me another mug of water. My hand is shaking so much that I nearly spill it. I drink slowly, remembering the dream. Which is weird. I never remember my dreams.

I know I have them—or nightmares anyway—because I used to always wake up screaming. It was one of Pete’s many issues with me. But I don’t remember what happens in those dreams.

Trystan nudges me again, and I snarl. I’m turning feral, but he has that kind of effect on me.

“On your feet. We’re moving. We have a long way to go.”

“I need the bathroom,” I mutter. He stares at me for a long time, and I think he’s just going to tell me to wet myself. Then he nods to a clump of bushes. I hobble over and slip behind them. I glance around, but there’s nothing but open ground in every direction, and there’s no way I’ll get away. So I do what I need to do and then hobble back.

The shadowguard is all around us, but they seem depleted in the morning light. I’m not sure how long I slept, but I’m guessing it’s nearly noon—the sun is high in the sky. Trystan heads off. I hesitate, but then the shadowguard press in behind me, and I reluctantly move. They’ve kept their distance so far; I don’t want to give them any cause to get up close and personal. A shudder sweeps over me.

I’m special.

Hah. Probably not for much longer.

And I’m going to make the world a better place .

Nice idea. Unfortunately, I know deep down that’s not going to happen. I’m going to die. It’s just a matter of how much pain I have to endure before death takes me.

And I don’t want to die. I want a chance to tell Khaosti that I love him, even if he doesn’t love me in return.

I want to remember who I am. For Hecate, who told me she loves me in my dream. I know it was more than a dream, though. It was a memory. Which means the rest are likely there inside my head. I want to remember for me . And the fucking annoying thing is, for the first time, I’m close. They’re hovering on the edge of my consciousness. And I’m running out of time.

I want so much.

I walk.

I remember that last conversation with Hecate. Her words run through my mind.

Trust yourself.

You know deep down who you are. Who you want to be.

I clear my mind of everything—of my hatred for the man in front of me, the creatures that follow in our wake, the ache in my bones and muscles, my empty stomach, and the pain that awaits me when this walk is over. I forget my heartbreak over Khaosti and my worry over Hecate and the others.

I concentrate on nothing but the walk. One step after another. And in the vast empty spaces of my mind, I conjure up an image of who I want to be. Who I am.

I don’t care what I’ve been in the past or what I’ll remember. It won’t change who I am now.

I can be whatever I want to be. It’s my choice.

And I choose to be a good person.

And with that thought, it’s as though something breaks open in my mind, cracks wide apart, and I remember…

I remember who I am.

Holy freaking hell, no .