Chapter Forty-Four
Callen
The forest edge rises up in front of us, a wall of dense leaves and tall trunks. I scan the treeline, searching for any sign of Brigid.
“ Where the fuck is she?” Lochan growls, his fists clenched at his sides.
“ She ’ s fifteen minutes late.” Not good. No sign of Marius either.
“ Maybe she got held up,” Rory offers, but the worry in his eyes betrays his optimism.
Tiernan closes his eyes, his brow furrowed in concentration. “ I can ’ t sense her nearby,” he murmurs. “ Something ’ s wrong.”
Ice runs through my veins. “ We need to go back.”
Without another word, we turn and sprint back towards the academy. The night air whips past my face as we race through the grounds, our footsteps loudly slapping in the empty courtyards. The stone walls of Grimstone loom ahead, the gothic spires reaching upwards sharp and jagged, like claws reaching for the stars.
As we approach the main entrance, I notice something off. The massive oak doors are slightly ajar. Something ’ s caught in between them, on the ground, preventing them from closing. I reach down and pick up the soft, worn yellow sweater, and the bag it spilled out of. Brigid ’ s things.
No.
We race through building. Rory picks up her scent, finally, and he leads us to the hidden entrance in the archives.
“ The ritual chamber. They must have found it,” Lochan shouts, catching up to Rory. The rest of the way is familiar.
We descend into the bowels of the academy, and the air grows thicker with dust, magic, and something dark. Very dark. The hidden passage takes us deeper below the basement until it ends.
I skid to a stop in the doorway.
The ritual chamber hits me like a punch to the gut. Holy fuck. I ’ d almost forgotten what it looked like. How pornographic it was.
Erotic murals cover every inch of the walls, a dizzying depiction of flesh and shadow. The Morrigan, in all her terrible beauty, writhes against the Raven King. Their bodies intertwine in graphic poses that make even my jaded sensibilities blush.
And there, in the center of one, Brigid. Or is it? The woman in the mural could be her twin, surrounded by five familiar-looking men.
“ Shit,” Lochan breathes beside me.
I tear my eyes away from the walls, scanning the room for Brigid. And that ’ s when I see him.
My father. High King Cillian, standing tall among the Council members.
“ Well, well,” my father ’ s silky voice carries through the chamber. “ If it isn ’ t my disappointment of a son.”
King Cillian takes a step forward, his robes rustling against the stone floor. The air around him shimmers with barely contained power, a reminder of why he ’ s ruled the Fae Court for centuries. “ You know, I had such high hopes for you once. The golden prince, heir to the throne.” He shakes his head, his voice dripping with mock sorrow. “ But you ’ ve never been able to rise above your base impulses, have you? Always thinking with your cock instead of your head.”
I clench my fists, willing myself not to react. “ Where ’ s Brigid?” I spit out.
He smirks, gesturing to a shadowy alcove where I can just make out her unconscious form. “ Safe. For now.”
“ You son of a bitch,” Lochan growls, taking a step forward.
My father ’ s eyes gleam with malice. “ Ah, Lochan. Following in your father ’ s footsteps, I see. Tell me, do you plan to die as pathetically as he did? The only worthwhile thing that useless traitor ever accomplished.”
Lochan roars, lunging forward. I grab him, yanking Lochan back before he can reach my father. “ Don ’ t,” I hiss. “ He ’ ll fucking kill you.”
Lochan ’ s muscles are coiled tight under my grip, rage radiating off him in waves. I get it. I want to rip my father ’ s smug face off, too.
“ Let me go,” Lochan snarls.
“ Use your head,” I snap. “ Look around.”
The chamber ’ s alive with movement now. Council guards materializing from the shadows, weapons drawn. We ’ re outnumbered ten to one, easy.
I scan the room for an advantage, any advantage. But all I see are those fucking murals, taunting me with their erotic scenes.
Then I spot her. Eira.
She ’ s standing off to the side, those big owl eyes fixed on the floor, not looking at any of us. What the fuck is she doing here?
My father sees me look towards Eira. “ How fortunate that we were tipped off about your little escape plan.”
My blood runs cold. I stare at Eira, pieces clicking into place. “ You,” I breathe. “ You told them about the chamber.”
Eira meets my gaze, her expression unreadable. “ I had to, Callen. My family, they are loyal to the Council, and they’ve been searching—”
“ Save it,” I snarl. Should ’ ve known better than to trust anyone in this fucking place.
“ Now, now,” my father chides. “ Don ’ t be too hard on the girl. She was simply fulfilling her duty. Unlike some people I could mention.”
I ignore him, my mind racing. We ’ re fucked six ways from Sunday, unless I can think of something fast.
“ What do you want?” I ask, playing for time.
My father ’ s smile is all teeth. “ Oh, I think you know exactly what we want, son. Or should I say, who?”
His gaze slides to Brigid ’ s still form. No fucking way am I letting them use her for their sick ritual.
“ Over my dead body,” I growl.
“ That can be arranged,” my father says softly.
Lochan, Rory, Tiernan and I exchange glances.
Fuck it. Let ’ s go.