21. Chapter 21
Chapter 21
P acing the cold stone floor, Aurelia chewed at the inside of her cheek, stopping abruptly at the bare black wall to look down at her palms.
White heat flooded her veins, smothered just as quickly.
Useless—her magick was fucking useless here.
She'd been too stunned, too hurt by Ven's words to say anything as he left.
He'd pleaded, begged her to tell him why she had come back through the mirror. And when she finally did, when she'd finally torn herself open for him . . .
I have nothing to offer you, Aurelia.
She saw it for the lie that it was. Because what they'd shared—however fleeting— that was real. But none of that mattered. The very thought of leaving him behind threatened to break her, even if he'd spoken the truth. Even if there would be nothing between them if they made it out of this place.
Everything they’d fought for—the safety of the human realm, clawing their way through demons and the ancient beasts that roamed the in-between—it did not end here— would not end here.
Fuck him.
She wouldn’t be leaving this place without him.
They did not fight alone.
Closing her eyes, she braced her feet apart. The humming energy answered her call, her magick rising to the surface. White heat sparked between her fingertips, evaporating as it was stifled by the silver cuffs around her wrists. If only she could find the keys to unlock them . . .
Her power might be useless . . . but she had another gift at her disposal.
Pressing her ear against the thick door, she listened to the hushed voices of the guards, waiting until footsteps echoed away into the corridor.
Pounding a fist against the door, she waited for a grunt in response, covering her mouth as she mumbled incoherently.
“What?” came the grumble from the other side.
She feigned a coughing fit, sputtering a string of nonsense until she heard the thunk of the heavy latch lifting.
The door cracked open as the guard’s face appeared. The one with thick braids the color of hoarfrost, dark silver where they crowned his skull, paling as they trailed down his shoulder.
His size was enough to give her pause—but swallowing her fear, her gold eyes raised to where he towered above her.
Hand resting on the sword at his hip, impatience flared in his expression. “What do you—”
“The keys.” She threw every ounce of will she possessed into the words, not allowing him the chance to look away from her—that had been her mistake with Alaric, and she wouldn’t make it again.
The guard froze, his mind seeming to war against his instinct where he stood in front of her.
She poised herself, ready to reach for one of the daggers strapped across his chest—her stare focused as she said more forcefully, “The keys,” she lifted her wrist and pointed to the cuff, “who has them.”
His eyes became glassy, silver brows knitting together. His pupils dilated as her command took root. “The Captain . . .” he mumbled.
Of course.
He shook his head, a small amount of clarity coming back into his eyes as he reached for the blade at his side. But his movements were slow, clumsy, as if he was still under her thrall but his mind was fighting it.
She ripped one of his daggers loose, sinking the blade into his neck to the hilt, his eyes going wide with shock as he helplessly reached for it before collapsing to the floor.
She spared a glance down the quiet tunnel before hooking her hands beneath his arms and dragging his body into her chambers.
Rifling through his uniform, she removed the smaller blades from him, checking his pocket for any keys—anything of use.
She stood, looking down at the body of the guard, a fire lighting inside her.
She was done playing the parasite .
She would make herself a pox on this place.