The Princess of Death (Tangled Fates #1)

1. Terrific idea, terrible ution

Nevaeh

W hat do you do when the real nightmare begins after you wake up?

As I force myself to sit, the quiet dungeon echoes with the sounds of chains tied to my limbs. The ice-cold cement on my back makes me wince as the memories of last night’s whipping flash before my eyes. The hideous overall I have on is still damp with blood and the chill doesn’t help the tips of my fingers to unfreeze.

My healing powers have worsened in the past few weeks. Judging by the number of open scars littered around my numb body, it's clear my Divine is on vacation while I suffer in its absence.

Divine: A raw power source capable of creating and destroying worlds formed by the combined powers of The Almighty God and All-knowing Fates. Every supernatural has a small piece of this magic running in their veins.

The blood, ache, and stink of burnt flesh is nothing new to me. This is just another morning at mi casa torture, except the absence of my cellmate is enough to pull me out of my daze abruptly because there hasn’t been a single day I haven't woken up to the toddler snuggled up against my stomach.

Where is he? Where's my little boy?

A whimper filled with terror sounds from afar, and my heart stops at the familiar cry.

Without thinking, my neck snaps in that direction only for the iron collar bound to my hair to pull at my scalp harshly. For a second, my vision blurs from the sharp pain before the dread creeps in.

They took him.

Bile claws at my throat at another whimper. No, they can’t take him. They haven’t touched the boy in months . We had a deal. I’ve taken his share of punishments every day so they'll leave him alone.

Fear grips me entirely when another scream rattles my insides. I’m still disoriented from my blackout, but the terrified cry from the poor kid is pushing past the bone-crushing pain I'm in. Breathing rapidly through my nose, I try to stop my hands from shaking.

I’m wasting time just sitting here. I need to find the kid before they taint him. I won’t let them break him like they broke me. I can’t let him suffer in this nightmare any longer.

Dragging my battered body to the far corner of this disgusting dungeon, I keep my head tilted at an angel because of the neck brace.

Balancing on scraped knees, I start digging. The broken cement cuts through the skin of my fingers, but I invite the pain. It helps me push past the dizziness. When I hear the kid sobbing a few cells away, getting to him is all that matters.

I’ve planned this out for weeks, observing days with the least Deviants on shift. I was preparing to get him out of here, but not like this. Not when I can barely remember the day or which warlock is in charge of security today.

I swallow my gasp of pain when the cold metal digs into my palm when I try to pull the dagger from the ground. Ignoring the stings, I crawl back to where my chains are hammered in.

I have a weapon. It’s rusted and won’t do much, but it will at least gut a couple of guards for me.

With trembling hands, I stomp down the last of my pride and cut my hair free from the chain, trying hard not to butcher the task too much. Rotating my neck free, I work on the stiffness before moving to the hard part.

The dark cell and my blurry vision makes it difficult to see anything so I search the chains for the weakest link by pulling on every link. When I find a hook ready to fall apart, I pull on it with all my remaining strength.

It takes three hard tugs and scraped palms to free my arms and two more for my ankles. I wish I had more time to revel in being free of these damn chains for the first time in a decade, but time is not on my side today.

At least I have a weapon. A weapon, I risked my life stowing away after they threw that little boy in my cell because I had a feeling I would have to put it all on the line for him one day.

Fucking witches.

I hate them and this entire fucking coven from the depths of my heart.

The crescent moon is the strongest and most disgusting coven among supernatural's and I can’t wait to burn it all to the ground. The overwhelming need for revenge chokes me until I push it down.

I need to save the kid first.

His life triumphs my thirst for blood.

Unfortunately for them, the deviant guards on shift are so focused on traumatizing my little boy that they won’t see me coming until I’m right behind them.

Deviants: Undead human puppets with no brains.

Witches created Deviants to do their dirty work and be fiercely loyal to their creator. They follow the Queen’s commands like loyal puppies with no remorse.

This coven has an ancient practice of hunting down helpless humans on their deathbeds and offering them immortality for the small price of eternal loyalty.

The humans stupidly sign up for the immortality part without reading the fine print and end up getting conned when the witches turn them into brainless puppets with no free will, immortality, or soul.

Trusting the witches?

Who the fuck came up with that idea?

I take a deep breath to rein myself in but immediately gag from the awful stink of blood and urine. I will not throw up again.

With the dagger clutched in my hand, I crawl to the bars, when my legs refuse to hold my weight. Fisting the bars for support, I clench my teeth before pulling myself up and barely swallow my cry of pain. When the world starts spinning I squeeze my eyes shut and remind myself why I'm doing this.

Every bone in my body begs me to sit down before I pass out. The thought of resting my eyes flashes in my mind for a quick second before the wails outside break through my fatigue.

You can't give up, Nevaeh. Monkey needs you.

When I’m sure I won’t plant myself face-first on the ground, I stretch my legs to regain some feeling in them, even if it’s just pure agony.

At this point, the only reason I’m not on the ground writhing in pain is due to the sudden silence. Screaming and crying are good; it means he’s alive. It’s the silence that chills my soul from the endless possibilities it leaves in its wake.

It takes a moment for my legs to regain footing, and I use this time to pace in my head and plan my next steps.

Slowly, I can feel my Divine, the magic that runs in my veins stirring after a decade of being forced to stay dormant. Major life-threatening wounds start closing up, and I heave through the sharp pain of my ribs cracking in place. I take a deep breath, and this time my lungs don't feel like a baby elephant is sitting on my chest.

Is my plan reckless and probably life-ending? Yes .

Do I have another brilliant plan? No .

I stop myself from overthinking my somewhat foolish plan by striking the metal dagger against the heavy bars, creating a resounding sound throughout the dungeon.

No takebacks now.

Rushed footsteps paired with the mind-numbing stink of decaying flesh lets me know what's about to come. The smell overwhelms my heightened senses, and I try my best to focus on getting out of this cell and ignoring the urge to throw up .

Not like I have anything in my stomach to throw up.

I haven't been fed in weeks now.

The guard is about to rush past my cell when I use his distraction and the lack of a working brain to swiftly bring him into a chokehold through the bars.

The moment my arms sink into his rotten flesh, I regret not stabbing him instead.

With time, a deviant’s body degrades into fragile bones and decaying flesh that shreds like a snake. It’s exactly as gag-worthy as it sounds.

The Deviant aggressively thrashes into my hold, and his touch burns my forearms because of the dark magic used to create him.

He angles his spear to stab me from the side, and I evade just in time. Before this fool can alert the others with his antics, I squeeze my arms harder and watch his head fall to the ground with a wet thud. Yuck .

Counting to five, I brace to see if the commotion attracts any unnecessary attention. When no one comes screaming bloody murder, I reach for the now abandoned spear and smash the heavy lock keeping me inside to pieces.

A quick glimpse inside the opposite cell reminds me why I need to abandon all hesitation and fear before stepping outside this nightmare. The broken and burnt bodies piled in a corner are a small example of what these monsters are capable of.

The scared and quiet ones are fun to play with, but no one wants to deal with a mouthy, sarcastic, and overall bitch. As long as they focus on beating the attitude out of me, their eyes won’t stray to the places where my clothes are torn.

Using the walls as my crutch, I limp to the last cell and sigh in relief when I hear soft whimpers again. I feel awful for being happy about the poor boy crying, but at least he’s still alive.

I would take him crying over being killed at the hands of these voodoo-doing barbarians any day.

‘You hit first and hard, so they can’t come after you again.’

The combat lesson from my childhood suddenly echoes in my head, and I freeze in place. I’m surprised I still remember his voice, even after all this time.

Papa.

After a decade of nothing but pain and misery, I have hope that maybe, just maybe , I will get to see him again.

The possibility of seeing my papa again sends my Divine into overdrive. I feel my strength increasing with every dragging step, and the adrenaline rushing into my body helps me recount the combat lessons Papa drilled into me as a kid.

Stopping at the edge, I peek around the brick wall to glance inside the cell. When my eyes find the tiny figure bound to a chair he can barely fill in, a familiar rage fills my veins. The kind of rage I learned to keep dormant for most of my life, but today, I don’t ignore the whispers of revenge. Today I'm embracing them.

For my little monkey.

A lump forms in my throat when my eyes get fixed on the open scar on his stomach that’s bleeding heavily. His skin is pale, not from the loss of blood but from the raw fear of the warlock standing before him.

The rough plan I made in my head is down the bloody drain. I’m no longer waiting for the perfect time. Looks like I'll have to take a detour to skin some warlocks alive.

Clutching the spear, I scoff in my head.

Fucking cheapos.

If Papa was here and saw the quality of this weapon, he would have made a show of breaking it in two with little to no effort.

Before the pathetic warlock can put his hand on my kid, my dagger cuts through theand perfectly lands on the side of his neck. The cell goes eerily still as his body falls to the floor like a sack of wrinkly old potatoes.

Shouldn’t have touched my kid.

Taking advantage of their shock, I storm into the cell and swiftly stab a Deviant right between his eyes with the spear. The last warlock who was enjoying watching my kid be tormented, scurries back to avoid blood splashing on him.

The sound of my boy hiccupping and trying to reach me snaps me out of my tunnel vision. Turning my head to him, I see the boy trying to free his hands, which only makes the chains dig harder into his wrists.

Keeping my blood-dripping spear aimed at the last warlock, I meet my baby's eyes and shake my head once. Immediately, his movements halt, and the lack of crying helps me focus on the bastard in front of me.

“How dare you put your filthy hands on my kid?”

Poking his forehead with the spear, I apply the tiniest bit of pressure that has him shuddering in fear.

“I warned her, didn't I? I specifically said not . him .”

Despite the weapon aimed at his head, the warlock has the balls to hiss at me .

“How did you get out?”

It shouldn’t surprise him I broke free since I’ve done it before. Sure, only one of two prisoners escaped that time, but I still consider it a wild success.

The warlock’s eyes frantically look around for help, and I see the exact moment he realizes he’s on his own. Taking another step back, he helps me by cornering himself. This dungeon is drowning in black magic, making it impossible for inside voices to break free, and the shift change isn’t for hours .

I don't plan on sticking around that long.

“We had a deal. You leave him alone, and I take his share of everything,” I wheeze.

It suddenly dawns on me that even when my Divine is healing me and doing its best to support me, my lack of a stellar diet in the past decade will be working against me today.

The warlock’s shoulders stiffen, and I hear his heartbeat falter, but his pride won’t let him beg for his life. Not like his begging would change my mind.

“That was before you started passing out every hour. The Queen asked us to train the kid. He is to take your place.” My blood freezes in terror at his casual mention of making the boy their next scapegoat.

That’s exactly what I wanted to prevent. My skin might be crawling with a decade’s worth of scars, but I won’t let them leave permanent reminders of this nightmare on my boy.

There are two types of magic bearers in our world. The kind that uses dark magic and pays for that power with their soul that chips away with every spell. And the second kind practices clean magic to spare their soul as their flesh takes the brunt of wielding such power.

Without a soul, the dark witches go straight to Purgatory when they die. However, the light witches still have a chance at finding eternal peace in Azure .

Purgatory: A place where rotten to the bones supernaturals are tossed to spend eternity in misery after death.

Azure: A version of Heaven created by the big bad Satan himself so his angelic brothers and other creations had a place to spend eternity in peace after giving up immortality.

This warlock’s mangled left ear tells me he is a light warlock, but that doesn’t mean he'll be going anywhere near Azure in this life.

Grabbing him by his throat, I push him against the moldy wall before asking the boy to look away. The kiddo doesn’t object and turns his head just as my palm squeezes tighter, and I let my Divine come out to play.

The warlock’s eyes widen in fear when the brown in mine becomes non-existent, and I see a gold ring around my iris reflect in his petrified eyes.

I’ve deprived my Divine of an audience for so long that it’s no surprise the warlock hasn’t seen my Divine make its presence known.

Sucking up every last bit of light and warmth from the dungeon, my thick gold essence circles me protectively. Dancing over my skin in wild patterns, the strings of gold search for a prey.

Without wasting another moment, I absorb the warlock's darkened soul and watch his skin melt beneath my palm. The foul smell of burnt flesh overtakes his wails growing louder as he tries to escape. Choking on his own blood, the warlock pleads with his eyes, but I wasn’t born to be merciful... especially not to monsters like him.

Throwing my head back, I fill my lungs with every ounce of his Divine, leaving him empty before tearing his soul apart from his body.

The warlock falls to the ground with a thud when I finally loosen my hold. His face now a deep shade of purple, and body shrunken like he's been dead for ages.

It's not my fault they forgot my mere touch could void them of their souls. What I can do is nothing short of barbaric, but what else would you expect from Dean’s daughter, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

From the daughter of Death.

A hiccup breaks my trance, and I immediately fight to gain back control from my Divine. Albeit reluctantly, my essence fades so I can tend to who matters most.

Rushing to the boy, I crouch before him to hold his face between my hands. He doesn't flinch like he does with others, just keeps looking at me with those big blue eyes.

“Hey, little monkey.”

I search him for injuries, and except for a couple of scratches and handprints, the only concerning one is on his stomach. The fast flow of blood is what’s making him panic, so I know I have to treat is fast.

“Here, let me fix this quickly, and then... and then we'll run far far away. You want that right?” Tears run down his pale cheeks as he nods up at me.

After Snapping the chains around his arms, I dry his tears and peck his nose. “Then we have a plan. We will run. I won’t let any of these blood-sucking witches hurt you again monkey, I promise.”

His breathing turns shallow, and I know I don’t have much time before he passes out on me.

“I need you to stay very still, okay?”

I go to remove my hands from his face, only for monkey to grip my arm with both his hands and bury his face in my shoulder.

Okay. No problem.

I just have to do everything with one hand now.

Covering his gash with my palm, I close my eyes and break my fragile hold over my Divine so it can surface again. My essence flows from my palm to his stomach, and it doesn’t take long before I feel the cut closing beneath my fingers.

Forcing my heavy eyes to blink rapidly, I try to get rid of the black spots dancing in my vision. I haven't had the strength to stay alive and use my powers simultaneously in a very long time, so I know it's time to skedaddle out of this nightmare before I start feeling the consequences.

I give us a minute to breathe and watch as monkey's face regains some of his baby-pink blush, and his body, which was covered in bruises, is now free of them.

Exactly how it should be.

When the blood loss settles in, the boy starts trembling like a leaf and I quickly realize the hideous excuse for clothes we have on won’t do anything to keep us warm outside this dungeon.

The little guy tiredly nuzzles his face in my stomach, and I caress his matted hair while trying to solve our current problem before the next one pops up.

How am I supposed to carry him and fight at the same time?

Searching the cell, I grimace when my eyes land on the bloody and dirty blanket in the corner.

Anything is better than nothing, I guess.

Using the blanket, I strap the kid to my chest, tying knot after knot in hopes it will stay. This way, my little monkey will be warm, and my hands will be free to do whatever I want... like pulling out someone’s trachea.

The second I pick the boy in my arms, the unyielding knot in my stomach finally unravels.

Thank Fates, I woke up when I did. I don't even want to imagine the damage these monsters would've inflicted on this innocent soul if I stayed on the floor, soaking in my own blood.

Reminding myself only the inside of the dungeon is soundproof, I prepare to be quiet and quick.

Taking out the two Deviants guarding the entrance is easier than I thought. The coven should start a better training program for these brainless puppets if they want to stop me from coming after her next.

I’m aware of my piss-poor condition and how the witches are excellent trackers, so not lingering around longer than I have to is my main strategy.

My head is reeling with panic and adrenaline as I run toward the thick forest surrounding the coven.

I’m limping as fast as I can when suddenly my Divine goes berserk. The relentless bastard claws at my insides, trying to nudge me back to the direction I ran from.

But I get this odd feeling that the raw panic running through my veins is foreign —like it’s not my own, but that doesn't sound right.

As much as I want to figure out why my Divine is pushing me toward the coven instead of the border, the kid is my priority.

He comes before everything. And if this is my last night alive, I’ll be damned if I die without making sure I deliver him into safe hands.