Chapter 24
His shoulders stiffened at the sound of my voice, the steel bars shaking in his pale, frozen hands.
A thin shaft of light shone through a vent in the ceiling—the only source of illumination, besides the torch in my grasp. It curved around him, casting shadows that stretched the broadness of his shoulders over the walls.
I lowered into a crouch just outside the slatted door. The hem of Flóki’s jacket soaked up the dampness from the floor as my hand hovered in the space between us.
I needed to touch him. To prove he was really there.
Desire surged under my collarbone in sharp, confusing waves. It was coated with bitterness and hatred, but it pulled me in just the same. At the last second, when we were a hair’s breadth apart, I snatched my hand away, thinking better of it.
Clearing my throat, I repeated his name, a touch above a whisper now. “Ryder.”
A ragged exhale clouded the air in front of his lips. He barely had enough strength to lift his chin. Icicles were crystalized along his eyes. Lashes frozen together, he strained to pull his eyelids open.
How long had he been down here? Why was he down here?
He brought his fists to his eyes, clearing the frost. Then he looked up at me.
Gasping, I flinched back, stumbling down to a knee.
The torch slipped out of my grasp, sputtering on the cobblestone.
His eyes were black.
There was no green, no life. Just two shadowed pits. The blood drained from my face. I shot to my feet.
This wasn’t Ryder, this was a ghost—a stranger.
But then again, he’d lied to me our entire relationship, so maybe this was worse.
Maybe this was the real him.
His empty stare fell to the floor, before slowly dragging up my legs, sliding up my body, the way my arms tucked under my ribs. They caught on the dip of my silk camisole, which suddenly felt paper-thin, lingering over the flush of my chest. A weak smirk pulled at his lips.
“Nice jacket, baby.” That wasn’t his voice, either. It was barely a grating rasp, like his vocal cords had been shredded. “Black always looked good on you.”
I pulled the bomber tighter around me, but I wasn’t sure who needed it more. Because a rush of that same want flared through me, burning brighter than the torch.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded. “Who told you where I was?”
Moving first up my neck, his gaze flickered over my face. I was certain he was assessing me, cataloguing all the new scars and bruises I carried.
A flash of anger twisted his features, as if he bore them himself.
“Your hair is up.” Crimson stained his teeth. “You never wear your hair up.”
A chill far colder than the icy air in this elven prison, trilled along my bare neck. I stumbled back, suddenly all too aware of the tension dragging us closer. “Stop it.”
“What, can’t I give my girl a compliment?” he said through one side of his mouth.
“Do you have amnesia?” I spat. “I’m not your girl.”
His smile told me he knew, but didn’t care.
And that was the kind of look that made me forget what we were now: mortal enemies.
I couldn’t let this conversation go on—not knowing that something molten and dangerous below my belly button was dragging me closer to him, inch by inch, steadily, inexorably.
Before I could lose my nerve, I thrust my hand into my boot—fully acknowledging and absolutely hating the way his eyes followed the motion, the way his lips tugged up when my cami scooped down—and whipped out the dagger Nemuik had gifted me from my ankle strap.
Ryder only grinned when I grabbed his hair, held his face to the bars, and brought the sharp tip to his neck.
“Now tell me, hunter, what you are doing here before I drive this blade into your throat.”
I’d forgotten how still he could become, how he could school every inch of himself until he might have been carved from stone.
“Aw,” he finally cooed, those black eyes glistening up at me “Are you trying to turn me on?”
I yanked on his brown locks, hard enough that the side of his head banged against the bars. “Don’t fuck with me, Ryder.” Blood trickled down his throat as I pressed the blade in. My hands shook—whether it was from anger, or fear, or something else, I couldn’t say. “Answer the question.”
“Fine,” he croaked, that subtle lilt I used to know and love hanging in the air. “I came here for you.”
My grip tightened. “Why, doing Chthonia’s dirty work? Proving your brother right? You going to try and siphon my powers right here?”
“Because I can’t stay away from you.” He rolled his neck slowly, the blade leaving a thin red line across his neck. “No matter what I do, where I go, I can’t get you out of my head.”
“You already hunted me down once and succeeded,” I said, my tone cooler than the chiseled ice that made up the dungeon. “Don’t you have someone else to obsess over now?”
“You got away,” he rasped. A droplet of blood slipped down, coating the crystal knife. “I’d hardly call that a success.”
Vindication, white-hot and so intense I almost couldn’t see, sliced through me. I knew it. The tattoo, the contract. That’s all this was. “Then why didn’t you grab me in the woods outside Crescent Rock? I know that was you.”
That same deep chuckle I’d heard that night in the forest rang through his cell. It drilled into my heart, under my skin. “Too easy.”
Easy? “Oh, so this is a game to you.” I pushed the knife in a touch harder. His leg kicked out on reflex. I had to admit, it was nice seeing him squirm for once. “Then I’m going to make it the most difficult one you’ve ever played.”
“Careful.” Even with the pressure on his vocal cords, the word was a silky threat. “Those are the kinds of things that only make me want you more.”
Lowering the weapon, I tossed him out of my grasp before the swell of emotion muddied my thoughts. He caught himself before he tumbled into the snow.
It struck me then, the conversation I’d overheard between Hildur and one of her guards—it was Ryder they had found out on the glacier. He was clearly addicted to the hunt, to the rush it provided, and I was the prey that escaped.
“I know what it’s like to feel that obsession…
” Running the tip of my blade just under my sleeve, I lifted the fabric until orange wisps poked out—the wings of my butterfly tattoo.
It was powerless now, but a soft pulse of that fixation flared at the touch, a reminder of how good it had felt to pursue.
“I couldn’t eat, breathe, sleep, think—I couldn’t do anything without wanting my target.
I would have burned the world down to get it in my hands. ”
His wild eyes roved over me, landing on the weapon in my hand, flicking to my exposed skin. Turning flinty, dangerous. “So you made it.” It came out as a growl. “Good girl.”
I narrowed my eyes, tilting my head. “Was that your plan all along, then? Herd me to the Night Stalkers so they could do the actual dirty work for you?”
“I did it to protect—”
“Your famous fucking words.” I tossed the dagger upwards, the blade arcing, spinning.
I caught it by the handle, and I knew full well what I was doing, curving my spine like that, bending low to place the weapon in its sheath.
His hungry stare traced the shape of my body.
“Well guess what? I don’t need your protection, Ryder. ”
He wanted me. Even more so now. And I’d show him what he would never get, not ever again—even if my insides flinched seeing him like that, beaten and down. But why? He’d lied to me, he’d hurt my friends, he’d joined Chthonia’s cause.
I picked up the torch, the flame dampened by the water, but still lit. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a demon to get to.”
“Wait,” he cried. His voice twisted upward. Needy. Pathetic. “River, please, don’t go.”
My name echoed through the dank halls—an endless plea that drilled into my heart so deeply, so strongly, it could have carved itself into the mossy stone walls.
I shook it off. I had to, or I might end up crawling into that cell with him, giving into that same raw hunger. I’d hate myself for it tomorrow. And every day after. Because this relationship wasn’t real.
Tightening my grip on the torch, I turned the corner and entered a windowless stairwell.
The spike in confidence from seeing my ex destroyed and begging pushed me on, but I wasn’t sure how long that would last.
Already, the adrenaline was waning, turning jagged and sharp. By the time I reached the next landing, it had turned on me completely—a stabbing pain in my stomach.
The second floor was an exact replica of the first. A dozen glacial cells, wet cobblestone, evil in the air.
On my left, a bulky silhouette prowled the length of its chamber. In the bleak light I swore I caught a glimpse of a flowy lion’s mane, but there were too many eyes and one set too many legs and an irregular shape jutting out of their back that resembled wings.
No good would come of investigating the cells and their prisoners. I’d learned that lesson.
I hurried to the next level, flinching at the sound of my own footsteps.
Every few breaths, Ryder screamed my name, his cries getting fainter, hoarser, the deeper I went.
By the time I reached the fifth floor, the stairs were so eroded they resembled slippery ramps. The fire sputtered.
Stone crumbled beneath my damp soles, and ice crept across the floors, the bars, covering every cell with a thin, frozen film.
But it was the silence—a heavy, haunting presence—that made my skin crawl. At every turn, there it was, tickling my ear, weighing on my shoulders, touching me, even though I knew nothing was there.
I cupped a hand over my mouth and huffed out air, trying to contain the warmth against my numb lips. My shoes were a sopping mess, the liquid from the stagnant puddles seeping into the soles, drenching my socks. Freezing cold.
I finally reached the sixth floor.