Chapter 4
Nelle
Idarted to Graysen’s side and eagerly asked. “The Purveyor of Rarities?”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” he murmured, already moving toward the yawning mouth of the corridor. “Come on. Let’s go.”
Hungry for the hunt, Graysen and I hurried through the waves of milling patrons.
A sudden swell of laughing children and costumed performers spilled between us and our bodyguards.
The fox in bright silks flung a handful of sweets into the air, and the frantic surge of scrambling children erupted in excited squeals as they swarmed around the guards, cutting them off from following.
Graysen and I strode beneath the massive archway into the restroom corridor.
Gauzy light filtered from recessed bulbs, dimming the space and muffling the market’s roar into a clatter of footsteps and chattering voices.
Limestone walls carved with a swirl of dragonflies flitting between tall reeds blurred past, while small birds etched across the ceiling hovered above as if it were the sky.
A steady stream of people flowed up and down the corridor like a lazy river, parting instinctively around Graysen as he moved with arrogant purpose and barely contained menace.
Fine lines tightened the corners of his narrowed eyes as he concentrated on his senses.
One hand gripped the shopping bags, but I noticed what he was doing with the other.
He swiveled his wrist slowly as if his fingers skimmed the surface of unseen water.
My footsteps were a flurry as I hastened to keep up with his quick march. “What is it?” What was he detecting?
He blinked, jolted out of his hunt. Slowing his pace, he pursed his mouth as he mulled over how to explain it. “It’s like a faint rattle I can feel beneath my feet. A tremor in the air. It’s growing stronger the deeper we walk.”
My eyes widened. I felt nothing of the sort.
A crease furrowed between his brows at my bewilderment. “You don’t feel anything?”
I shook my head, the long ends of my hair fluttering about my shoulders and caressing my arms. I threw up a hand in a useless gesture. “Maybe. I don’t know.” There was something here, a cool sensation prickling my skin, but it could simply be a weak blast of air seeping from the vents above us.
His gaze slipped to the scarf twisted around my neck as we walked, and I had the same thought. “Maybe this is stopping me?” I flicked my hair aside so I could tap the rough cord hidden beneath the silk.
His jaw clenched briefly as a considering look flickered across his expression. “Maybe.”
We picked up our speed to stride swiftly past the cluster of restrooms and turned the corner, leaving the patrons behind.
The hallway before us was empty, quieter and gloomier.
The white lights, more sparsely set apart, left the passage feeling stretched and hollow, shadows gathering in the spaces between them.
I thought we were going to head down to the next junction, but Graysen came to a halt at a door halfway down the passageway. He splayed his fingers wide as he hovered his palm in front of its nicked surface. Tapping the wood softly with a fingertip, he whispered, “It’s coming from in there.”
The door looked old and abused, with peeling varnish flaking away from its battered surface flecked with dull blue paint.
I squeezed my hands into fists at my sides.
Trepidation tightened my throat, smothering the spark of excitement I’d been clinging to.
Hunting down the Horned God was one thing, but standing on the threshold of actually meeting him was another entirely.
For a heartbeat, I imagined Florin waiting just beyond this door—ancient, powerful, aware of us.
Graysen wrapped his calloused fingers around the doorknob. He twisted and pushed, the hinges creaking in protest. Shadows wreathed the room’s inner depths as my eyes adjusted slowly…
…only to reveal a rather ordinary utility closet.
My shoulders slumped as disappointment spiraled through me. When I looked up at Graysen, he didn’t seem surprised at all, as if he’d been half-expecting this somehow.
From down the corridor came the rushing sound of pounding footsteps.
I cut a glance over my shoulder and watched a trio of bodyguards swiftly approach.
“Wait here,” Graysen ordered, the arrogant mask of indifference sliding back into place.
He lazily headed toward his men and addressed Luther, the older gentleman with steel-gray hair and a stern expression. The one seemingly in charge.
I remained at the closet’s threshold and turned my attention back to its innards.
Shelves lined the narrow space, crowded with spring-cleaning sprays, cloths, and rubbish bags.
Nothing remotely magical. Paper rustled as I slipped my fingers into my bag of sweets and popped a chunky square into my mouth.
Decadent white fudge melted over my tongue with a stinging burst of raspberry and citrus.
While I chewed the delicious morsel, I pondered the dark magic wielded by the Horned Gods.
It felt like rumbling thunder jostling my bones and crisp rainfall dashing against my skin.
But this…? I didn’t understand why I couldn’t feel what Graysen obviously did.
Maybe it was Zrenyth’s rope? Or, as I half-swiveled to contemplate Graysen, who braced a hand on his hip and glowered at the older man, I considered the possibility that maybe it had more to do with him specifically.
“I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself in a fucking utility closet, Luther,” Graysen barked.
Luther stabbed a finger at him and shot back something more I didn’t quite catch before Graysen replied, “I don’t give a shit what Kenton wants.
No one else follows.” And on that note, he shoved my shopping bags into another guard’s arms, spun around and strode away, leaving Luther scowling and hastily issuing orders to the rest of his team.
Graysen reached my side. “Ready, Pet?” he drawled in a cold, cruel voice.
Fire ignited in my belly. I bared my teeth and hissed back at that godsdamned nickname he used to remind his family I was nothing to him but a leashed pet to be paraded around. I knew it was just for show, but it still pissed me off.
He ignored me and entered the closet first, flicking the switch on to flood the room with brash light. I stomped inside and moved deeper into the space, glaring at the back wall with its exposed red brick.
Behind me, the door snicked shut, and my vexation sputtered out as soon as Graysen strode past, grinning sweetly, eyes sparkling with adventure.
His delightful enthusiasm hit me like a live wire, fizzing through my veins.
A heartbeat later, tension snapped through him, and the grin fell away.
His upper body tipped forward a fraction, boots sliding apart as if bracing against a turbulent wind.
Wide, startled eyes swung to me. “Do you feel it now?”
There was something.
A light tickle of magic danced across my fingertips when I raised my hands to feel the air. “It’s so soft.”
Thick brows slashed forward. “It’s like a storm in here. The magic… It’s a quake of anger beneath my boots. Gusts of wind shoving at me, teasing me along.”
I didn’t feel it. Nothing like he was experiencing. It was soft and delicate, a whisper more than anything.
Staring intently at the exposed brickwork, he stalked to the back wall with its corners filled with long-handled brooms and mops.
In our world, we needed special keys to open doors to special places like our treasure troves or tithe prisons or even a godsdamned wall blocking an escape route beneath a Keep.
He dropped the canvas bag of roadkill on the floor beside his feet before pushing forward to press his palms over the wall, sweeping them wide, feeling it out.
And he did that for a long length of time, digging his fingertips around the bricks’ edges and searching for a door, while I rested a hip against a metal shelf and devoured a few more delicious treats of salted caramels and rosewater-infused fudge.
Time marched on, and my bag of sweets was emptying.
Though I must admit I had a perfect line of sight to the muscled physique stretching the t-shirt tight, the inked forearms ridged with veins.
And that gloriously firm ass clad in black jeans as he messed about, trying to figure a way past the magic locking us out.
I sighed, stepping closer to the wall. I rapped a knuckle on the red brickwork, rap, rap, rap. “If the door’s warded with magic, we’ll need a key,” I drawled, stating the obvious. We were wasting our time. Without a key, we’d never find a way inside.
Graysen knocked on the wall with his knuckles—one, two, three. “I know that,” he bit back, scowling.
As soon as Graysen finished rapping, a burst of green light erupted at the foot of the wall.
I stumbled back in surprise, the bag of sweets almost tumbling from my hand as eerie green magic zipped upwards in a fiery line, then across and down once more.
“Holy shit, Crowther.”
“How the fuck?” he breathed, just as confused.
We stared at the outline of a door. Dark magic warped the solid brick, the surface rippling like heat above a desert road. Graysen pressed his hands against it. With a slow shift of his weight and one boot sliding forward, he leaned in and pushed.
The ghostly door swung wide without a sound.
And beyond it awaited darkness—not just the absence of light, but a thick, depthless black that seemed to swallow the doorway whole. It stared back at me as if alive, and icy panic clawed up through my chest.
Too soon, far too soon to be facing it after breaking beneath the Keep.
My heart hammered fast. Cold sweat beaded on my palms and the nape of my neck. The thought of stepping into that pitch-black void sent my breath spiraling out of control, each inhale sharp and shallow. The edges of my vision darkened, tunneling inward as if the void were already reaching for me.