Chapter 30
30
KASSANDRA
O ne tick, Blaze is behind us.
The next, he’s gone.
I spin away from the pile of bones, my heart in the general vicinity of my throat, and search the webs for Blaze’s shock of auburn hair and towering frame. The man is a literal giant. How can he be missing?
Panic sinks its claws into me, leaving behind jagged, bloody lines.
Aleksander places a comforting hand on my bicep, directly over my glove.
“Stay beside me, cherub,” he warns, his tone devoid of its usual mirth and humor.
He surveys our surroundings with a grim expression.
“Where is Blaze?” I sign, knowing he won’t understand me but needing to express my worry.
Even without knowing Falkan, Aleksander must’ve gotten the gist of my question.
His lips thin, and he deftly flips his favorite dagger around in his hand. “It seems as if your Fall Prince ran into a bit of trouble.”
Blaze is the strongest fae I know. If he got attacked…
My heart palpitates, and I begin to scan the webs with renewed vigor, searching for Blaze’s massive frame or Treyton’s pink hair.
What if those wraiths attacked them? Ate them? I immediately rush to the worst-case scenario.
It’s like falling into a pit—you windmill your arms, scrambling for purchase, as your stomach drops out from under you. Darkness encroaches the edges of your vision, and you know you’re going to go splat. It’s inevitable. Yet all you can do is fall, fall, fall, fall as air rushes past you, slicing at your cheeks like the very tip of a sword.
Treyton and Blaze are dead.
Dying.
Hurt.
Bleeding out somewhere.
But even as I think that, a sense of warmth engulfs me. It’s like I told Blaze earlier—I know Treyton is still alive. I can feel it, the way I can my own erratic heartbeat. Blaze is still alive too.
I don’t question how I know this. Now isn’t the time.
I need to find and save them.
Before it’s too late.
The clock is ticking, and it seems to be counting down to the males’ final moments. Once again, I can’t tell you how I know that. But whatever this feeling is—whether it’s intuition or something immensely more sinister—causes ice to cascade down my spine. My hands feel clammy beneath my gloves.
“Cherub. Cherub. Cherub!” Aleksander abruptly grabs my shoulders and spins me to face him.
His hands are warm against my skin. Comforting, almost. That’s one word I never would’ve thought to associate with the tall, muscular elf.
His earnest blue eyes seize my own as he searches my face. “They’re going to be okay. Do you hear me? I won’t let anything happen to them or to you. You just have to trust me.”
I study him as intently as he seems to be studying me, searching for any sign of duplicity. I’m not stupid. I know he doesn’t get along with the others. He always stares at them as if he’s one tick away from slicing their heads clean off their shoulders.
Yet, when I stare into his eyes, I spot nothing but sincerity.
The sight causes my racing heart to slow. It’s suddenly much easier for me to breathe. The air no longer seems to be made up of tiny swords.
I nod once, the barest dip of my chin, and his shoulders sag in noticeable relief.
“Okay. Stay with me. Don’t leave my side.” He guides my hand to the bottom of his back, and I slip my fingers into the waistband, clutching his belt. He jumps slightly at the contact but otherwise doesn’t react. “Come on.”
We walk as one through the maze of webs, guided by Runt’s occasional yip and grunt. I don’t see my pacon, but at least I can hear him. I would probably go mindless with panic if I couldn’t.
The farther we venture, the denser and thicker the webs become. I bat them away with my gloved hand, but it’s almost like trying to unravel a quilt. The strands refuse to cooperate with me.
At least my gloves and modest dress offer some protection. The webs seem to be sticking to Aleksander. They latch on to any bare skin they can find and tug.
“Fuck!” Aleksander bellows as a web coils around his neck.
I reach upwards and pull it away. It tries to stick to my skin, but my glove deters such notions.
I’ve never been more grateful for my power before, and I’m not even using it.
“I don’t like this.” Aleksander’s voice is practically a growl. “Do not let go of me.”
Wasn’t planning on it, I think, tightening my grip on his belt.
And we continue to walk.
Gaia, I can’t help but think that these webs are anything but normal. They claw at our ankles and wrists and necks like white, sentient vines. Fear manifests in my throat like a lump of clay, making swallowing impossible.
Blaze…
Treyton…
Where are you?
Aleksander stops abruptly and cocks his head, the muscles of his neck rigid with tension. I peek over his shoulder to see what has captured his attention.
We seem to have stepped into a clearing that boasts white and purple flowers, as well as a collection of stones piled high in the center. On closer inspection, I see that the stones actually form some sort of structure. A house, perhaps? There’s a roof, an entrance, and three walls.
And every single thing is covered in thick, sticky lattice.
Including the two males stuck to the largest tree.
I can’t see their faces—not with the white threads cocooning them completely—but I know without a shadow of a doubt that they’re Blaze and Treyton. My heart reaches for them, crying morosely, and tears prick my eyes.
Gaia…
A tight band constricts around my chest, hellbent on suffocating me. I place a fist against my chest, as if that could somehow stop the impending heart attack.
“Kassandra—” Aleksander begins, but his voice breaks off in a surprised yelp as a white strand cinches around his ankle and then flings him into the air. He dangles upside down, cursing under his breath, as more and more of that strange, sentient webbing slithers around him.
I desperately search for something I can use to free him, but he’s too far for me to reach, and all I have with me is my harbara . Panic sets in, sinking its icy fingers into me.
What in Gaia’s name am I supposed to do now?
A short, spindly figure steps out of the stone cave, and tension shoots down my spine. My harbara , in response to my mounting fear, transforms into its whip form, slithering around my feet.
“You dare enter Mitchia’s home and threaten her?” Her voice is a low, sibilant hiss.
She steps even closer, and I’m able to see her face for the first time.
While her body is that of a human, her face is decidedly…not. Eight eyes blink up at me on a face plucked straight out of my nightmares. She speaks around a mouth of razor-sharp teeth—no doubt the reason for her shrill tone.
She continues speaking without waiting for me to respond. “Mitchia sees all. Mitchia knows all. Mitchia dispose of the bad, bad males.” She smiles then, a baring of fangs, and I stagger back a step. She either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore my fear. “Kassandra says thank you to Mitchia for removing bad males.”
Hesitantly, I lift my hands and sign, “You know my name?”
Those multiple eyes blink up at me simultaneously. “Mitchia knows all.”
Okay. At least this monster–female hybrid knows Falkan. That’s a starting point, at the very least.
“You need to let my…friends go,” I say, allowing my earnestness to seep into my expression.
Mitchia’s terrifying expression doesn’t change. “Mitchia eat them. Mitchia hungry. Mitchia like the taste of bad, bad males.”
“You can’t eat them!” I exclaim in alarm, the cold air like needles in my lungs.
Mitchia cocks her head to the side. “Kassandra would stop Mitchia? Even though males are bad males?”
“They’re not…” I allow my hands to freeze in the air as I debate my next words carefully.
I’ve been conditioned to fear the princes my entire life, but my princes? Do I fear them? Mitchia wasn’t wrong when she claimed they were bad. They’re not good males. They’ve lied, cheated, stolen, killed, and who knows what else?
But I can’t let them die.
“You can’t kill them,” I try again.
Anger sparks in Mitchia’s multiple eyes, hammering off her like a malevolent energy. “Bad males die!”
“Not them,” I insist.
“They lie to Kassandra. Don’t tell her the truth.” The creature points a finger in my direction. It’s knobby and gray, the nail cracked. “Kassandra doesn’t know she’s their mate. They don’t tell her.”
Wait…
What?
What?
No. That can’t be true, can it? Mitchia is lying or delusional. The princes and Aleksander aren’t my mates. I don’t have a mate—at least not one that I’ve met yet.
I’ve heard about the elusive mating bond before. The guards at Madam Herra’s house would speak about it in hushed, reverent tones. It’s a rare connection between two fae, and one that has been dying out in tandem to the black virus sweeping through the nation.
You’re supposed to recognize your fated mate instantly.
And I certainly didn’t feel anything remotely positive towards the males in question until only recently.
Unless you consider the mythical platforms I found myself on when I first met them…
But no. That was just a product of them being powerful princes, right? A hallucination?
She’s lying, isn’t she?
They wouldn’t keep something like that from me.
Even as I think that, betrayal fills my veins, dark and caustic.
Gaia, how could I have been so dumb? The signs had been right in front of my face this entire time.
The platforms.
Their strange behaviors around me.
Their constant touches.
Their heartfelt words.
Gaia. I’m an idiot.
But I don’t allow her to see the impact of her words. Outwardly, my face remains expressionless and closed off. Impassive.
“They’re not my mates,” I sign, emphasizing my words with a shake of my head.
“Mitchia does not lie!” she screeches. “Kassandra must ask mates what else they keep from her. Bad, bad males. Bad males!”
She stomps towards the nearest web—towards Treyton. The outline is significantly smaller than the one beside it.
“Males only hurt females. Mitchia’s mate left her alone. He was bad, bad male. Now, Mitchia kills bad, bad males.” With an almost blistering speed, she tugs at the webbing, and it slides away from the tree.
Treyton falls to the ground, still halfway wrapped in white lace. He moans low in his throat.
Mitchia extends a hand, and the remainder of the web shoots back into her fingers, disappearing as if it’s never been there to begin with.
“NO!” I sign in horror as she bends down and grabs ahold of Treyton’s arm.
The unconscious prince doesn’t even stir as the monster opens her mouth wide, unveiling those terrifying teeth, and prepares to bite down.
I don’t think, just react.
With a sound I’ve never made before—one I wasn’t even sure I could make until today—I launch myself at the beast. My harbara twists and distorts in my hand, shrinking in size and turning sharper. Instead of a whip, it’s a dagger.
I leap onto the monster’s back and bring the dagger down into one fleshy eye. She screams in anguish, attempting to bat me off of her, but I hold on tight as I bring the blade down again. And again. And again.
But still, she lives, bucking and fighting me. I know that the moment she gets her hands on me, this will all be over. Her strength far surpasses that of even the males.
I keep the dagger in her eye and move my gloved hand to my mouth, once again using my teeth to remove the fabric. I have no idea if my powers will work on her—or what the consequences will be for me this time around—but I’m out of options.
When my hand is only inches away from her face, she suddenly leaps to her feet and runs a short distance away. She whirls to face me.
Fear grips me in a chokehold. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. I’m staring into the eyes of death and feel terror like I’ve never known before. My heart feels like a wave shredded to pieces on the jagged stones of a shore.
I’m going to die.
But I won’t go down without one hell of a fight.
I keep the dagger in one hand, while my other stays in front of me. All I need to do is touch her…
With a roar, Mitchia lunges at me?—
And then flies over my head and lands in a crouch next to her home. She screams again, the noise rife with anguish, and begins to whack her face repeatedly against the stone.
“Bad Mitchia! Bad Mitchia! Bad Mitchia!” she screams, black blood running in rivulets down her cheeks.
Terror and confusion hold me immobile.
“Bad, bad, bad!” she screams, grabbing a stone off the ground the size of her palm.
And as I watch, horrified, she begins to bash her head in.
“Bad! Bad! Bad! Bad!” With each smack of the stone against her flesh, her voice becomes more gurgled and indistinct.
Soon, she can barely speak at all.
Her furry skull is caved in, and one of her eyes has popped out of its socket. Bile scorches my throat, and my stomach twists and tightens, threatening to unload its meager contents across the ground.
Mitchia lifts the stone above her head, the move sluggish, but then drops it to the ground. Her remaining eyes shut, and her chest goes still.
Dead.
She’s dead.
She…killed herself.
What in Gaia’s name just happened?