Chapter 33 #3
We have gut feelings, as humans do, but ours are guided by magic. Ancient and powerful and wise. Promise me you’ll listen to it and never, ever hesitate.
“Yes,” I exhale.
The Hound watches me a second longer, allowing me another chance to change my mind, but I stand firm on my decision.
He moves closer, standing only inches in front of me. I can breathe, I remind myself, as his gaze falls between us.
I look down, my inhale catching in my throat when I see the hand he offers—the arm with the banded tattoos. When I hesitate to take it, he flexes his fingers, shifting his hand palm up.
“They’re clean,” he assures me, as if that has anything to do with it.
“Is it going to hurt?” I blurt out.
“My hand? No.”
“The magic, asshole.”
I’m only vaguely aware that I’ve just called the devil’s right hand an asshole. I’m too focused on not doing it again when I see his mouth twitch.
“No.” He shakes his head. “It won’t hurt.”
Before I can lose the morsel of courage I’ve found, I take his hand.
His skin is cool compared to the heat seeping through mine. I was expecting it to feel rough and calloused, but his hand is soft. Firm.
Shifting his grip, he slides his palm down my wrist and wraps his fingers around my forearm, covering it completely.
I swallow against the swell of fear in my throat and move my hand to mimic his hold. My fingers barely make it halfway around his arm, my thumb resting over the first band in his tattoo, and I swear the mark is thrumming. Vibrating with a heartbeat of its own.
I don’t realize how intently I’m staring at it until he speaks, his voice startling my focus.
“I’ll start, and if I say something you don’t agree with, speak up. There’s no undoing this, Lucina.”
I nod. “Okay.”
As soon as I voice my agreement, a rush of power fills the room. It swirls up and around us—unseen but felt. Very much felt. It’s dark, cunning, and ancient. So demanding that I feel the need to stand straighter in its presence.
The Hound's eyes flare with the sudden rush of magic, a wave of vibrant color striking the blue of his irises. It rises within him just as it rises around us.
“I will find the remaining sources,” he begins, seemingly unaffected by the sheer force pressing in from all sides. “I’ll help you kill them, take down the ward, and free the Captures. Every single one of them. When it’s over—”
“When they’re safe,” I correct him.
“When they’re safe,” he amends, “I’ll take you to Alaric, fulfill my deal with him for freedom, and I won’t leave Onyile without you.”
“Alive?” I know it isn’t something he can promise, but I ask for it anyway. It feels selfish—wishing for my safety in the wake of everything else he’s just sworn.
“I won’t leave without you, period.”
His words leave their mark, imprinting in the rush of magic around us, then settling over our joined hands. It seeps all the way down—bone deep.
I’m entranced by it for a moment, until I realize he’s finished speaking and is watching me expectantly.
My turn.
Forcing some air into my lungs, I lift my gaze to his. “Assuming I make it out of Onyile alive,” I start, “and as long as it stays in the best interest of my people,” I add, “I will, to the best of my ability, help you break the curse on our Disciples.”
At the conclusion of my sentence, something foreign spreads beneath my skin.
It starts at the tips of my fingers, crawls up my arm, and vanishes somewhere within me. The sensation ceases as quickly as it came on.
My eyes are wide as I look back at him. “Is that it?”
He nods. “That’s it.”
I snatch my arm from his and take a step back. “Good.” My heart is still pounding a mile a minute, and I have no idea how to slow it down.
“So…” I rub at my forearm, itching the odd tingling feeling that lingers there. “How long do you think it will take to find the sources?”
The Hound shrugs, rolling out his wrist and shoving his hands into his pockets. “An hour or so.”
I gape at him. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously,” he mocks. “The Countess's inner circle reeks of high power. I’ll find the three most potent, and those will be our targets.”
Reeks.
I’m a fucking idiot—he can smell them. In the woods, when he pointed to his nose, I hadn’t fully registered what he meant, but I get it now.
I exhale my frustration, my gaze drifting to the fire.
If the Hound can find the sources that fast, then all we’ll need to do is figure out the best way to…
kill them…so the ward will weaken enough for the Sol to pass through it.
Gods, we could do that in two days, maybe even one. All we need to figure out is—
“Can you get me into the dungeons?” I ask.
We need a way to open the cages. I need to talk to Callan’s father, and all of them will need time to prepare.
“Yes,” he replies, reaching for another drink. “But not tonight. They’ve increased security as of this morning, but I’ll find a way around it tomorrow.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “They found the guard you killed, didn’t they?” Gods, that could ruin everything.
“No,” he tells me, dragging out the word, “they found an abandoned post and increased the number of guards because of it. I took care of his body.”
“Oh.” My arms fall back to my sides. “Well, that’s good. I guess.”
He nods, and I’m sure this is my cue to leave, but I don’t.
“How long do you think all this will take?” I ask. “Freeing them, I mean?”
Something about my question seems to be funny to him because he grins down at his drink before raising it to his lips. “You can tell your little boyfriend and his coven that we’ll have it done in two days.”
All the blood drains from my face.
His smile widens. “I’ve been hunting you, Lucina. I told you that. Ever since you stepped out of wherever it was you were hiding.”
It’s such a simple thing for him to admit, but it’s hair-raising to hear.
The Hound nods to the window and the dark sky beyond it. “And I’ve never seen stars act that way before.”
I’m going to blame it on exhaustion. And the lingering effects of being Snared within an inch of my life.
I might even attribute it to relief—at finally seeing some kind of light at the end of this tunnel.
Whatever it is, I find myself smiling. Wide.
There’s even an urge to laugh building inside of me.
“You are…absolutely terrifying,” I tell him.
The Hound inclines his head. “Thank you.”
“Right, well,” I run my hands over my face and smooth down my hair, “I’m going to find a nice broom closet to crash in. Where should I meet you in—”
“I’ll find you.”
Of course he will.
Nodding in agreement, I turn towards the door.
“Salem,” he blurts out.
I freeze, spinning around to face him. “What?”
“My name,” the Hound sighs, shoulders sinking in what looks like defeat. But when he notes my widening eyes, his expression hardens. “Tell anyone, Lucina, and I’ll have to kill you.”