Chapter 36 Keira #2
Wondering if he's here to save me, or if this was always part of his plan.
Because I can't tell if I'm being rescued.
Or delivered.Consciousness returns slowly, dragging me up through layers of thick fog. My head pounds, a dull throb that radiates from the base of my skull. My mouth tastes bitter and chemical.
I can't seem to get my eyes open. I instinctively try to move to rub my aching forehead, but they don't budge.
Panic flares in me. It's sharp and immediate, pulling me through the haze. I yank harder, feeling rope dig into my wrists.
I shift to try and move my legs, but they're the same—bound tight and immovable.
My eyes slowly open, the world coming into a murky view.
The warm glow of candles fills my vision, streaking out at the edges of my line of sight.
The air smells of incense as things come into focus. I'm lying on my back, staring up at a vaulted ceiling barely visible in the dim light. My dress is torn and dirty. I see dark streaks and I can't tell if it's blood. If it is, I don't think it's mine.
I lift my neck, forcing myself to look around despite my vision not entirely in focus.
That's when I see them.
Those damn red-robed figures, hoods pulled low, standing in a circle around me. They're not moving, just staring at me, or so it seems, as their faces are hidden.
Fear tries to get me to sit up, but I can't, my muscles screaming against the restraints. Panic comes back in a huge wave, though I'm not sure it ever left.
"What—" My voice sounds dry. I swallow hard and try again. "What the hell is this?"
No one moves or answers.
My fear feels suffocating now. I twist my wrists against the ropes, ignoring the burn as the fibers dig into my skin.
"Fucking lunatics!" I yell, thrashing as hard as I can. "Untie me now!"
Still nothing.
And then, as if on cue, every hooded head turns and looks upward.
I follow their gaze.
Above me, the Phantom King is still standing on the second-level balcony walkway that overlooks this chamber.
For a fearless leader, he hasn't moved since they knocked me out.
He then raises his arms and spreads them wide like some kind of fucking messiah.
"All hail the Phantom King," the robed figures chant in unison. "All hail the Morrígan. May she guide us."
They repeat it.
Again.
And again.
The chant grows louder, building in force like some ancient ritual pulsing through the air.
"Shut up!" I scream. "What the fuck is wrong with you people?!"
I yank harder at the ropes, my heart beating against my ribs. "Let. Me. Go!"
The Phantom King lowers his hands and the chanting stops.
There's a moment of silence and all I can hear is my own ragged breathing.
"When death comes to you, Keira Killaney," he says, cutting through the quiet, "may the faces of all the victims your family claimed be shown to you."
"I didn't do anything!" I yell back, my voice raw. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, you fucking psycho!"
He laughs. It's low, and the sound makes my skin crawl.
"Even now," he says, "you show no remorse."
"Coward!" I yell, thrashing against the ropes. "Hiding behind a hood so I can't even see you!"
For a moment, he doesn't move. Then he steps closer to the railing, his hands rising to the edge of his hood.
He pulls it back.
The candlelight catches his face. It's old, weathered, with deep lines carved into his skin. On the left side of his face, just below his cheekbone, is some type of mark or scar. I can't tell.
The only thing I know for sure as I stare at him is that I do not recognize the man staring down at me.
"I don't know who the hell you are," I say, doing my best to hide the tremble in my voice.
"My name is Cormac Donoghue," he says. "Known to my followers as the Phantom King."
He then reaches into the folds of his robe and pulls out a blade. It's long, the edge catching the candlelight.
"I am the one," he continues, his eyes locked on mine, "who will soon spill your blood for the Morrígan."
My throat closes up and I can't swallow, can't breathe, can't think beyond the cold, sharp fear slicing through me.
He holds my gaze for a moment longer, then tucks the blade back inside his robe and pulls his hood up again.
"But first," he says, arms outstretched once more, "you must be prepared for the sacrifice. Your body must be marked by the Morrígan, so death may find you."
The chanting resumes, now faster. The robed figures move forward all at once, tightening the circle around me. Their red robes rustle with every step.
I thrash, yanking at the ropes with everything I have. My wrists and ankles burn from the friction, and my shoulders scream in protest, but I don't stop.
I twist, pulling harder. "I'm here with someone! He will come for me!"
Cormac starts laughing again, the sound echoing off the walls.
"The one you came with tonight?" he says, his voice laced with amusement. "What's his name? Ah, yes. Octavian Voinea."
I freeze.
My blood runs cold.
How the fuck does he know his name?
"Did you know," Cormac continues, his tone conversational now, almost friendly, "that his mother's maiden name is Ionescu? Do you know who they are?"
I don't answer.
I can't.
"The Ionescus have wanted a foothold in America for a long time," he says. "And you, dear Keira, were the key. All your precious Octavian had to do was step aside and let us take you."
I shake my head, the motion frantic, instinctive.
"Bullshit."
He laughs again. "Your Romanian has been playing a longer game than you realized."
I shake my head. "Shut up."
"You really think he didn't know?" Cormac laughs.
I try to fight it, but my mind slips back to before my fall.
I remember the way Octavian tensed when we walked in, the way his hand hovered near his gun, the way he scanned every exit.
He knew something was wrong.
So why didn't he pull me out?
Why didn't he stop it?
I try to swallow, but I can't.
"How does it feel," he asks, "knowing you were just bait?"
"You're lying," I say, forcing the words out through gritted teeth.
"Am I?" he asks, his hood tilting. "That bracelet he gave you? The one you're wearing right now?"
I try to look up at it, but I can't see my hands.
"It has a tracking device inside," Cormac says. "Too bad it'll do him no good down here."
I scoff. "I don't believe you."
"Brother J," Cormac calls out. "Show her."
One of the robed figures steps forward, pulling a knife from within his robes. He grabs my wrist roughly, and I try to jerk away.
"Don't touch me," I say, but the ropes hold me fast.
The blade flashes as he slices through the bracelet's clasp and the metal falls away from my skin. He does something with the tip of the blade, prying and twisting, and suddenly a small black square pops out from inside the bracelet's band.
He tosses it onto my chest.
It lands between my breasts and I lift my head to stare at it.
A tracker.
No. He couldn't have. He looked at me like I was the only thing left in the world.
But the chip says otherwise. Says I was wrong.
How many times had I looked into his eyes and thought I saw something real? Something that made me feel safe. Made me feel wanted. I was never wanted. I was targeted.
"See?" Cormac says. "He knew we'd take you today. And he still brought you. Such a pawn, Keira."
The words hit me like a physical blow and my world feels like it's shattering. The edges of my reality crumble inward.
Octavian knew.
He knew.
Every moment together. The gym, my kitchen. Every kiss, every time he looked at me like I was something precious. Everything he told me.
Was any of it real?
Or was I just part of the plan? A mission? A fucking job.
Dammit. I knew it.
The thought makes me want to scream and disappear entirely.
In this moment, dying doesn't even matter anymore.
None of it was true. He never cared at all and I'm left feeling like an idiot who thought I'd maybe fallen in love with a man worth loving.
My eyes burn from the tears.
"Let the ceremony begin!" Cormac's voice booms through the chamber, yanking me back to the present.
The robed figures, along with Cormac, start chanting again, but this time it sounds foreign. I don't understand it. Gaelic or Latin, maybe. Their words twist and curl around me, making it hard to breathe.
They circle closer, moving as one.
I pull at the ropes again, gasping.
One of the figures steps forward and raises a knife into the air.
He mumbles something, another prayer or invocation, and then he grabs my forearm.
"No. Please. Stop, I—" The word dies in my throat.
The blade presses into my skin, and then he starts dragging it, carving into me.
The pain is immediate, white-hot and searing. It radiates up my arm, into my shoulder, into my chest until it feels like my entire body is on fire.
I scream.
The sound rips out of me, raw and primal, echoing off the stone walls.
My blood starts dripping down my skin, pooling beneath my arm.
I turn to look at what he's doing, and I see it.
An M.
The Morrígan's mark.
Tears stream down my face, and I can't stop them, can't control anything anymore.
Then gunfire explodes behind me.
BANG.
Everything breaks.
The sound cracks through the chamber and my ears start ringing.
The chanting stops.
The robed figures scatter, shouting, screaming.
I twist my head, searching through the chaos.
And then I see him.
Octavian.
He bursts into the room like a force of nature, his gun raised, his eyes wild with fury.
He fires.
One of the robed figures falls.
He fires again.
Another collapses.
The room erupts into chaos, bodies moving, voices shouting, blood spraying.
I look up, searching for Cormac.
He's still on the walkway above us, but now his hood is down, and his arrogant, fearless expression is gone.
His face is twisted with rage, or fear, I can't tell, and then he turns.
And runs.
Like the coward he is.
Octavian keeps coming, keeps firing, cutting through the robed figures like they're nothing.
A few get to him, but he deals with them quickly as he towers over everyone.
And all I can do is lie here, bound and bleeding, my world destroyed.
Watching him.
Wondering if he's here to save me, or if this was always part of his plan.
Because I can't tell if I'm being rescued.
Or delivered.