Ritual II
We do not wish to partake in this foolish war against Remnants. It will only end in humanity’s annihilation when both sides consist of the metas. No, we will wait and bide our time. We still have our own war to win.
Ireally should have explored Cass’ mansion when I’d been here watching her. It had felt like a violation of her privacy, though. Especially since this was her childhood home.
I stumble forward into what looks like an ancient catacomb.
It’s like someone had taken what was an old tomb and spruced it up—making it look less like a zombie might pop out of the wall.
The centerpiece of the room is a massive, raised stone tablet that looks a lot like what a historian might describe as a “ritualistic sacrifice table.”
The werewolf rolls, rather than stumbles, onto the ground. The shadowy binding dissolves along with my attention as I turn to look at the new location.
“Ah,” Cass’ voice comes from somewhere in the pitch black of the other half of the fire-lit room. “Xerxes, I had never taken you for a traitor.”
The man on the ground—Xerxes, apparently—begins to whine and whimper like a kicked puppy.
“He was the only one Azazel identified as being a Remnant as well,” I say hesitantly, still trying to parse the darkness. “The rest of Gareth’s group are dead.”
She hums softly and I finally see her outline. And, God, she’s glorious. Her eyes have the glow again. The soft orange red that haunted my nightmares and permeated my dreams.
“Dead?” she asks, and finally steps into the dim lighting, wearing her dark cloak. The rest of her face, though, still looks worn. Like it took her a lot of effort to get us here.
“I took care of them,” I say, nodding to the werewolf. “I told you I would.”
She glances at the bound man as well before returning to me. I see the way her face shifts. The way it had when I’d offered to bring someone to her the first time.
Guilt?
“Don’t,” I whisper, closing the space between us. She doesn’t move away, and I place my hands on her hips, feeling her warmth beneath my fingertips.
Her hardened exterior, that I assume was more of a show for Xerxes than for me, fragments. “It just is not like you to be so—”
“Callous?” I ask, giving her a small grin.
“Brutal,” she says softly, dipping her chin. “I also saw the reports from the mega-buildings. And from the altercations outside.”
I can tell where this is going before she says the next words, but I let her anyways.
“What happened?”
“Just ask the question you’re dodging,” I say, dropping my eyes to the struggling werewolf.
Cass lets out a slow breath as her hand comes up to cup my jaw. Her thumb brushes along my lower lip, leaving a tingle along my face that trails down my spine.
“Why are you killing so many people?”
I let out a short huff of air. I suppose I hadn’t expected the blunt question to hurt so badly. Especially since the person asking is Bloody Mary—a literal legend.
Her hand caresses my face, and I lean into its warmth. Into its stability.
“The noble answer would be that I’m trying to protect the people who can’t fight for themselves,” I say, eyes drifting closed with her skin on mine. “The real answer is that I felt you die and I won’t let that happen again.”
She lets out a soft shudder, like she’d been expecting something else.
“Cass,” I whisper, knowing the werewolf can still hear us, “I can’t feel that again. It tore something open. Or, maybe, I tore something open. I don’t know. I felt you die and I told whatever being in charge that it wasn’t fucking happening.”
Though it really had felt like it was only me in there. In that void space.
She leans forward and presses her lips to mine. Soft and sensual. Like she needs to feel me as badly I need her.
Her lips work against mine, as if memorizing the contours of my flesh. She lets out a soft groan before pulling back, face a slightly deeper pink.
“We should get you fixed up,” I whisper, wanting so badly to just sink into her. Wanting to wrap myself up in that damned cloak and be directly against her.
“Indeed,” Cass says, looking down now at the werewolf. “Get him on the table.”
I nod and wrap another tendril of void stuff around his waist, moving him onto the table. The tight bundles around his waist and arms uncoil only to latch themselves to the table—pinning him in place.
“Let him speak,” Cass says, her face turning impassive.
Obliging, I release the strip around his snout.
“Fucking bitch!” he swears eloquently. Cass only grins, malevolence replacing the warmth she’d just shown me.
I get a sick satisfaction out of that, and I don’t feel bad about it.
“Xerxes,” Cass breathes out, sounding already peeved about his existence. “I do not believe I need to explain why you are here.”
“Because the whore that fucked her way to the Council went on a fucking power trip,” he lets out in a definitive growl.
I let out a snort, which gets me a brief side eye from Cass. The look does anything but quell my growing desire. Like holy shit.
“Because you betrayed your own kind, mutt,” Cass hisses, her spine rigid and her voice deepening. The way it had when she’d killed Revenant.
“You’re a weak leader who wanted peace,” he spits, making the word out to sound like an insult. “Darkrend wants domination.”
“I am sure he thinks so,” Cass sniffs before the room begins to glow red. There’s no real source, like my vision itself is tinged in the deep hue.
She whispers a few words before red fluid gushes from the wolf’s fur and mouth. Like with Mara, the scene is downright horrific, but I can’t seem to look away. Thick, oozing Aether pours from his skin, matting his fur and destroying what was left of his human clothing.
The fluid mainlines into Cass’ outstretched palm, suffusing into her skin without leaving a mark.
He screeches out in pained whines before beginning to convulse.
Cass lets out a grunt, and I start forward.
“No,” she hisses, not looking at me.
The wolf spasms one last time, a violent thrusting of his chest to the sky before falling still.
In the blink of an eye, his corpse is fur and skeleton. Like a juice box sucked clean.
Cass stumbles forward, placing her hands flat on the raised platform.
I move to her side and wrap an arm around her waist. “I’m here,” I whisper into her hair.
She leans heavily against me, letting out what might be a whimper.
I can feel her presence now. Feel her power. The way she’s literally radiating triumph and grandiosity. Whatever she’d taken from Xerxes, it supercharged her.
She turns a little in my arms and presses herself into me, draping her arms around my shoulders.
Her eyes find mine and they’re an incandescent red. Not the soft orange, but a violently powerful crimson.
“Are you okay?” I ask, softly, lips only an inch from hers.
“It has been some time since I was in such a dire state,” she says, eyes studying me. “And I have never had someone here with me to assist.”
“I live to serve,” I say, trying to hide the worry, but failing if her small smile is anything to go by.
“His initial resistance was somewhat vexing, but once I overpowered it, he was simple. I feel as myself again.”
“So, you don’t need me now?” I ask and realize the vulnerability in my words as they leave my lips.
Cass’ smile drops and she pushes further into me, her thigh pressing between my own. “I will no longer tolerate your self-deprecation, Arya.”
Her spicy scent heats my blood, even as my brain wars with the words.
“I—” I begin, but she wraps a warm hand around my throat.
“Never again insinuate that my love for you is only based on what you can do for me. I am not that shallow.”
I nod mutely, not sure if I should feel chastised or turned on.
Probably both.
Her lips meet mine, rougher this time. Incisors that are unnaturally sharp prick at my lips, drawing driblets of blood. I moan at the mixed sensation of spice and copper; the effect is unbelievable.
“Oh, God,” I whimper. “Cass…”
“Be a good girl and take me to bed,” she whispers, and I only nod.
Because who could say no to a goddess?