Chapter 21
We walked in silence.
Maybe because it was best to keep quiet. Maybe it was the terror and shock leaving us. Maybe it was mere exhaustion.
Though for me, it was really because of him.
Brey.
I should have been more concerned about the caves we passed. Instead, I found myself continuously glancing at my husband’s back. Continuously recalling the moment he’d surfaced from the pit of bones—that roar filled with every ounce of his strength as he’d aimed for the snagorn’s maw.
What he’d done hadn’t just rid me of my ability to speak. It had left me fixated and in unquestionable awe.
We walked for so long, and without any sightings of the sky, that I wondered if night had descended. The scent of blood trailed us. I’d assumed it was the small cut on my palm from when I’d gripped that protruding bone, or even snagorn ichor.
Then Brey curled his fingers into a fist for the twentieth time, and I noticed the blood dampening his sleeve.
“Your arm,” I whispered. “It bit you?”
“No.” Briefly, he tilted his head to look at it. “Happened when we fell into the cavern.”
More silence trailed those gruff words.
Although I knew we shouldn’t talk, I tried to think of something else to say. A way to convey my gratitude for what he’d done. Even if he’d all but used me as bait. Saying thank you didn’t feel like nearly enough, and praising him seemed ridiculous.
All I eventually managed was, “Have you looked at the wound?” Then, a bit quieter, I asked, “Is it bad?”
“Careful now,” he crooned, “that sounds dangerously close to concern.”
My awe deflated. “Finding this ward has been difficult enough. No need to make it harder by not tending to an injury.”
“It’s merely a scratch,” he murmured. “But if it will please you, I’ll inspect it when we’re free of this nightmare-infested mountain.”
Though he’d attempted to sound amused, he hadn’t succeeded.
I didn’t bother saying that a scratch would’ve long ceased bleeding, and we continued in a tense silence that made me regret speaking.
We hadn’t passed a nest in quite some time. Nor had we heard any hissing. Hoping that meant we might escape unscathed, I began to wonder what might await beyond the mountain, and if the ward was out there.
Ahead, sunlight slashed across the stone from a thin crack in the cave ceiling.
Brey shied away from it and gazed up. “We’re near an exit.”
Anticipation quickened our heartbeats and steps as we forged on. But a distant rumble behind us soon had us halting and staring at each other.
Brey whispered, “Head back to the last passage.”
It was minutes away, but I didn’t argue.
As quietly as possible, I hurried back until I saw the slim tunnel. With any luck, a grown snagorn couldn’t fit in the tight space.
Brey joined me inside it, wrapping his hand over his wounded arm.
Not knowing what awaited in the dark, we slunk as deep as we dared into the cave. It narrowed, and we were forced to huddle close.
Pressed against the cool stone with Brey looming over me, I tried to soften my breathing. But when a slithering mass further darkened the passage, an inhale hitched. Breath fled entirely when Brey used his other hand to cover my mouth.
Our eyes clashed. His dropped to the hand he held over my mouth—lingered there before he lowered his head.
The scrape of scale over dirt and stone faded.
Chest heaving, I exhaled harshly into Brey’s palm. His head rose. His eyes thinned on the hand still covering my mouth, as if it were my fault it was there.
Though it was, and though he couldn’t see my lips, I smirked.
He saw it in my eyes, and his hold tightened. Then he removed his hand and walked back through the cave.
We reentered the large one and continued toward what I hoped was an exit.
Brey glanced behind me, features tight. Perhaps from pain. “The sun must be setting,” he whispered. “We can risk hiding and waiting for them to leave the mountain, or try to get out before more head this way.”
“Out,” I whispered. “Definitely out.”
Scant minutes after we’d spoken, a shriek pierced the dark at our backs, and we ran. We veered around a curve in the cave.
Then another.
My heart soared as it reached us—the whisper of swaying leaves, the scent of the sea, and then…
The blessed sight of fresh moonlight over stone.
Brey hurtled through the arched opening, half covered by vines. He pulled them out of my way, then ran again.
I followed him downhill toward a cropping of rocks.
As soon as we ducked behind them, another snagorn left the mountain. Wings fluttering furiously, it slithered down into the woods with terrifying speed. Then it flew through a gap in the trees, shrieking at the half-moon.
I slumped against a stone and watched the serpentine beast fly toward the brightening stars. “What if the ward was in there?” I asked. “And we missed it.” The thought of going back into those caves…
“It wasn’t.”
I didn’t have the energy to ask him why he was so certain.
“This seems to be a path they take into the skies.” Brey stood. “We should get away from these mountains.”
Weary, I trailed him back past the cave entrance and down the base of the mountain. Astride it loomed another mountain, snagorns circling it and flying out to sea. The salty scent of it was a comfort. As was the tepid breeze washing over my sticky cheeks.
When we reached a small cliff overlooking the woods below, I marveled at the endless dark of the ocean. It surrounded this tiny isle as if it were little more than a pebble.
A pebble of mountains and monsters.
Dryly, Brey said, “I adore saying I told you so, so…” He pointed at the woods. “There awaits the ward.”
I didn’t see it. But I almost hoped he was wrong, and not merely to burst his ego, as I followed him down into the trees.
He wasn’t, and I groaned when I finally spied the damned well.
Standing in the dunes overlooking the beach.
I walked backward to gaze at the ginormous mountains, then at the bushland encircling them. Sounding half mad, I laughed as I said, “We could have just walked around those ghastly mountains.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, we were dropped inside the middle of one.”
“But you cannot be certain of that.” I turned back. “We could have been left near an exit, and we went the wrong way.”
“Perhaps next time,” Brey drawled, “we can test your theory.”
Next time.
Those words sickened me slightly. I had no desire to return to this isle ever again. I also wasn’t sure I wanted to know what next time might look like for us. A century from now.
One we would spend apart.
My skin pebbled as that unearthly energy spread to the tree line from the ward.
It enveloped like a strange wind, slowing my steps in the sandy soil. This well was in far worse condition than the first. Erosion smoothed the rim, and in places, it resembled jagged teeth. Barnacles and moss smothered the lower half.
While waiting for me, Brey procured his blade, then dragged it over his palm.
I offered mine for him to do the same. His gentle hold was a stark contrast to the harsh sting as my skin split. He sheathed the blade and slid his fingers through mine, closing our bloodied palms together.
Standing side by side with our joined hands over the well, I once again struggled to ignore his nearness. Struggled to keep my eyes from wandering to his face. Struggled to shake the memory of those portraits and his hand covering my mouth in that cave.
A piercing shriek caused the gulls to quiet.
As our blood fed the well, two snagorns tangled and plummeted toward the hillside we’d trekked. Snarling and turning, they sent birds squawking from the trees as they tore apart.
A shuddering boom and a crack locked my limbs—made me squeeze Brey’s hand tighter—as a tree fell with the serpentine beast. The other screeched and circled the treetops.
Then it spotted us.
Brey unsheathed his blade with a muttered yet vicious, “Fuck.”
But that blade was no sword or large tibia.
Unable to speak as the snagorn headed straight for us, I looked at our hands. Our blood had ceased trickling. Then I peered into the dim ward. Surely, it was done. Fed. Just as the snagorn breached the trees and began to descend upon the dunes, darkness spiraled up the well.
And sucked us away from the snagorn’s advancing maw.
As we neared the rusting wrought-iron gates blocking entry to the palace drive, the guards ceased talking.
Last time, we’d returned during the day—when humans were on duty and the made vampires were sheltering from the sun in the city barracks. So the surprise stilling the vampires watching our approach was understandable.
But Brey was in no mood to be forgiving. “If those gates don’t open before we reach them, you’ll all be moved to harbor patrol.”
In a flurry of clashing metal armor and crunching boots, the guards lurched into action—bumping into one another in their haste to get the gates open.
Just like the first time, the ward had deposited us on the highest city street. Then, it had been fine. Safe enough. Now, it was night, and the city was crawling with made vampires. Although we’d been feeding the wards, many were still angry about the delay.
Or simply using it as an excuse to incite further violence.
Mercifully, few had seen us before we’d hurried up the palace road. Those who had hadn’t bothered to do more than stare, as if they couldn’t quite determine if we were who they thought we were.
Also understandable. Our portraits might have been splashed across the Nightly Newsprint in recent moons, but we seldom appeared before anyone who wasn’t influential or part of the staff.
Three guards hurried through the gates to search the dark beyond for threats. The rest stood stiffly beside them as we entered.
I nodded.
Brey said and did nothing.
We began our journey up the ever-steepening drive to the palace, and the gates screeched closed. More guards patrolled the fenced cliffsides and the top of the drive, tiny glimmers of winking metal beneath the starlit sky.