Chapter Sixteen
Anabel clung to Wynter as they strode through the underground city’s forests. “I hate whatever that music is. It’s like the kind you hear in a horror movie when there’s a jump-scare coming up.”
Wynter had to admit, if only to herself, it was seriously creepy. As were the Halloween sound effects that could occasionally be heard. She patted Anabel’s hand. “We’re almost at the arena.”
“Whoever decorated this part of the woods went all out,”
said a smiling Xavier.
Indeed they had. Lanterns and carved pumpkins lit the way to the arena, where the evening’s upcoming Halloween celebration was being held. Rubber bats hung from tree branches. Tombstones were positioned here and there. Stray bones were scattered around. Fake blood had been smeared on logs. Ghosts hung from bushes, fluttering with the breeze. Spiders were stuck to the large webs that stretched between tree branches. More, a haze fogged the air, courtesy of smoke machines.
Anabel jumped at the fake sound of an owl hooting. “My heart is not handling this well.”
Delilah cast her a look of annoyance. “Nothing is happening.”
Anabel’s brow furrowed. “But the music, the atmosphere, the—”
“Drama,”
Delilah finished. “Tone it down. We’re fine. There’s no need to be nervous.”
“Does nothing scare you?”
The Latina pursed her lips. “Nah, not really.”
“That’s not actually something to be proud of, you know. It’s a sign of low intelligence.”
“It’s also a lie.”
Xavier pointed an accusatory finger at Delilah. “You’re scared of Wynter’s monster.”
“So are you,”
Delilah sassed.
Wynter sighed. “Sometimes, so am I.”
The entity was presently deep in slumber, its interest not whatsoever piqued by the current goings-on. Tonight’s celebration was to be a culmination of things, mostly contests. Dance groups would “battle”. Daredevils would perform stunts. Comedians would entertain. Vocal artists would sing. And then there was the annual zombie gauntlet, which residents had to sign up for in advance.
Everyone was dressed in costumes—apparently the best would earn its wearer a prize.
Hattie was a scary nun tonight. Anabel had gone for the Egyptian Goddess look. Delilah had chosen a voodoo doll outfit. Xavier was dressed as a rather hunky-looking devil, but without the face paint. Wynter had picked a Miss Hatter costume that wasn’t exactly skimpy but definitely had a sultry vibe.
Hattie sniffed. “This shindig had better be good.”
Xavier smiled at her. “You’re not still sulking that you had to come away from your book, are you?”
“I was at a pivotal part,”
Hattie snottily claimed.
“You mean a sex scene,” he said.
“How is that not pivotal?”
Delilah gave her a playful nudge. “So tell us, is the hero good in the sack?”
Hattie’s face lit up. “Oh yes. He’s a rigger.”
“A what?”
asked Anabel.
“He likes rope bondage,”
Hattie elaborated. “He ties women up in all these fancy, artistic knots. The heroine in my book likes it just fine.”
She smoothed a hand down her nun’s habit. “I’m partial to a little bondage myself.”
A grin curved Delilah’s lips. “Getting tied up can make things a lot more interesting.”
“I never tried it,”
said Anabel. “I prefer having my hands free.”
The Latina exhaled heavily. “Let me guess, you didn’t trust that any of your partners wouldn’t try to kill you while you were helpless.”
She rolled her eyes.
Anabel bristled. “One, I am never completely helpless—I resent that you would imply differently. Two, killers do like to tie up their victims.”
“Victims they usually kidnap, not date. I assume you were dating these guys who wanted to pull out some rope.”
“Most wanted to use handcuffs. And yes, I was dating them.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have been so inclined to believe that they wanted you dead.”
“Just because someone’s your partner doesn’t mean that you’re completely safe with them. Just ask Hattie.”
The old woman frowned. “Ask me what?”
“We’re here,”
announced Xavier.
Wynter looked up at the huge open-air arena that made her think of Rome’s Colosseum. It was currently adorned with garlands and strings of ghost lights. Inside, the song “Thriller”
played in the background, not overriding the large cacophony of muffled voices.
Ushers were guiding people to spectator rows. In the past, Wynter and her coven sat apart from the Ancients. But as Wynter was now officially Cain’s consort, he’d insisted that she and her coven sit with him. She had no issue with that, so she hadn’t argued. As such, they turned toward the VIP area.
Wynter spotted him instantly. She usually did, no matter where they were. It was as if he was her own personal homing beacon.
Maybe he felt the weight of her stare, because he turned his head, slamming his gaze on hers. His lips curved into a sexy as shit smile that made her body perk up.
“Damn,”
breathed Delilah, leaning into her. “I don’t know how your hormones cope with having that much raw sexuality aimed right at you.”
Wynter smiled. “You know, sometimes, neither do I.”
Reaching the VIP level, Wynter and her coven headed along one of the rows toward Cain. All the Ancients were seated, dressed in normal clothing.
Eve, Rima, and Noah were also there. The three Aeons seemed tense and uncomfortable. But then, they hadn’t been properly accepted by all the residents yet. It wasn’t simply because they were Aeons. It made it worse that Eve was once Adam’s consort, just as it exacerbated things that the twins were his grandchildren. No one trusted them as far as they could throw them.
The spot between Wynter’s shoulder blades itched and heated. Someone was glaring at her hard. And she didn’t need to look to know that it was Ishtar. The female Ancient might have ceased playing mind games with her, but Wynter wasn’t taking that as a sign of acceptance.
As she reached Cain, his gaze dropped down her body and darkened. “Should I assume you want to get fucked right here and now in front of all these people?”
he asked, his voice low. “Because that’s exactly what I’m tempted to do.”
Wynter smiled. “You’re easy that way. No Halloween outfit? Lame.”
But she got it. A huge reason the Ancients wielded so much personal control over Devil’s Cradle was that people feared them; found them so very other and unrelatable. That worked for the Ancients, and so they never tried to come across as fun or personable.
She and her coven quickly settled in the five vacant seats near Cain. Anabel instantly pulled down her tray table and cleaned it with one of her antibacterial potions. All seats had such trays attached to their backs, much like on airplanes.
Glancing down at the performance space below, Wynter felt her brows lift at the Halloween “touches”. Hay bales were pressed against the walls. Cobwebs and streamers dangled from wall lanterns. What seemed to be hundreds of intricately decorated pumpkins were piled up around the perimeter. Strobe lights in colors of black, orange, and green shone down on the large space.
Resting his hand on her thigh, Cain leaned into her. “I like having you sitting here with me. The last few times we were at the arena, I had to be content with staring at you from afar. And you spent every moment trying to seem unaffected.”
Wynter hiked up a brow. “Who says I wasn’t unaffected?”
His mouth curved. “I do. You wanted me from the very beginning, sweet witch. You just weren’t comfortable with it.”
At first, no, she hadn’t been. “Well, you’re sort of scary.”
Humor lit his eyes. “You were never afraid of me.”
“I was wary, though.”
“Only to a small extent.”
True again. Because there’d always been something exciting for her about being the focus of someone so very powerful that he could probably end even a revenant. Well, she’d never claimed to be normal.
“The doors have been closed,”
Seth interjected. “Everyone’s seated.”
Cain gave a curt nod and then stood. A hush soon fell over the crowd. Using pure power to amplify his voice, he thanked the event organizers, the caterers, etc., etc.
Feeling the spot between her shoulder blades itch once more, Wynter glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes instantly clashed with those of Ishtar. The Ancient’s baby blues were narrowed but disturbingly blank.
Wynter flicked up a daring brow—unwise, sure, but she was getting seriously tired of this bitch thinking she could stare at her whenever she pleased. Ishtar’s lips flattened, but she did nothing.
Hearing Cain call for the celebration to begin, Wynter faced front just as he sat. People flooded the performance space, where contest after contest then occurred. Each time, two competing artists—or groups of artists—would have a “battle”
of sorts. The crowd was then asked to cheer for their favorite, and whoever received the loudest applause would be declared the winner.
When there were only semi-finalists left, the event presenter announced, “The finals will be held after our break.”
Food and drinks were then promptly dished out. Wynter heard Xavier trying to charm a female server, introducing himself as Mattia Vivaldi while adopting an Italian accent.
Once the server left, Wynter frowned at him. “Did you just introduce yourself as a type font?”
His brow creased. “What?”
“You said ‘Vivaldi.
“It’s an Italian surname.”
“Pretty sure it’s also a font,”
said Delilah, forking some pasta. “More, it isn’t your surname.”
“Does that really have to be relevant to the conversation?” he asked.
Wynter exchanged a quick glance with Cain, who wasn’t bothering to hide his amusement.
Delilah gave Xavier a droll look. “God, you’re annoying. If my surname was Gamble—which is a super cool surname, in my opinion—I wouldn’t be giving people false ones.”
His nose wrinkled. “I don’t like it. Don’t like my first name either.”
“Why not?”
asked Delilah. “It’s a perfectly nice name.”
He sighed, digging into his food. “It was also my grandfather’s. He was an absolute bastard. I never liked him. So I guess I resent having the same name as him.”
Delilah narrowed her eyes. “That was all true? Really?”
“No, not really.”
“Oh my God, then why say it?”
“Maybe the voices in my head tell me I should.”
“You hear voices?”
interrupted Hattie, slicing into her steak. “That’s not good. One of my husbands, Keith—bless his dark soul—heard ’em often. He claimed they told him he should strangle me to death or I’d one day kill him.”
Lifting her glass of water, Anabel twisted her mouth. “Hmm. Seems that the voices weren’t wrong, huh?”
“It would have done him good to heed them, yes,”
said Hattie with an incline of her head.
His shoulders shaking, Cain put his mouth to Wynter’s ear. “Having your coven here livens the atmosphere a little.”
That couldn’t be denied. The Ancients didn’t really chat to one another while in the arena. They simply sat and observed, sober as judges.
“On another note,”
began Xavier, “it might interest you all to know that I signed our coven up for the gauntlet.”
Pausing with a forkful of food halfway to her mouth, Wynter felt her brows knit. “You did what?”
“I signed us up,”
he replied, grinning.
“And you didn’t think to mention it until now?”
“I wanted to surprise you. Ta daa.”
Wynter clenched her fork, tempted to throw it at him. “We agreed that you wouldn’t try to surprise me anymore.”
“You’re not still upset about my last one, are you?”
She arched her brows. “Why would I be upset that you summoned Asmodeus and let him possess you again? Especially when you promised that you wouldn’t do it anymore?”
“I just wanted you to meet him so that you’d realize he isn’t so bad.”
“He’s a hell-dwelling demon, Xavier.”
“You’re really going to hold that he’s evil incarnate against him? Your monster is no innocent either. I don’t hold that against it.”
Xavier gave her a beseeching look. “Now come on, lighten up, the gauntlet was fun last time. And considering we have a battle coming up, it might not be so bad to have a practice run.”
He looked at Hattie. “You’re up for it, right?”
The old woman shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”
“What about you?”
he asked Anabel.
“I’m fine with anything that will remind these people just how good Wynter is with a sword,”
replied the blonde. “You know . . . just in case any think to get the none-too-wise idea to repeat Shelia’s mistake.”
Delilah nodded. “Yeah, I’m thinking it would be worth reminding them what they’d be dealing with. What about you, Wyn? If nothing else, it will get Cain all hot and bothered. That’s gotta make running the gauntlet worth it.”
Cain smiled, firing a heated look Wynter’s way. “She’s right. It will.”
No surprise there. “There’s no point in you all getting excited, we might not get chosen. They can’t possibly include everyone who signed up.”
“You’ll be chosen,”
said Cain. “The organizers will worry that I’ll otherwise be offended.”
Which he seemed to find amusing.
Wynter sighed. Oh, she didn’t mind the gauntlet. As Xavier said, it was fun. And there was never anything boring about indulging in a harmless battle. But she’d really hoped to just sit and snuggle with her guy while they watched a show. You know, like a normal couple. They didn’t get to do much “normal”.
Soon after, servers returned to collect the dirty dishware. Returning to the performance space, the presenter announced that the second half of the celebration would commence. The semi-finalists entertained the crowd—singers, dancers, stunts people, etc. After the winners were chosen and awarded a prize, the presenter added, “And now we reach the most popular contest by far.”
A rumble of power filled the air, raising the hairs on her nape. A long-ass ditch appeared in the ground that spanned the entire length of the performance space.
“And here we have the gauntlet,”
said the presenter. “A ditch that will soon be filled with zombies. They will not be real, of course, but they will seem it—and they will attack. Do not worry, though. The gauntlet is spelled so that any injuries a fighter receives will immediately heal. The trouble is . . . such injuries will not feel or look healed, which can play tricks on a person’s mind to the point where they may even believe they are dying. This contest is not for the faint-hearted, in other words.”
Wynter could clearly recall her last encounter with the gauntlet. She’d known that her wounds were healed, but she’d nonetheless felt the pain and experienced the weakness that came with blood loss—none of it had disappeared until she exited the ditch.
“Many groups of five have signed up to partake in the competition,”
the presenter continued. “Ten of said groups will be chosen. Whichever one completes the gauntlet in the fastest time will be declared the winning team.
“The objective is to battle your way through the gauntlet, killing whatever zombie lies in your path. If a participant ‘dies,’ they will be spat out of the gauntlet, but the rest of their group may continue to fight. As to what you may fight with . . . there are no limits. Magick, weapons, hellfire, shapeshifting—anything and everything is permitted. For the safety of the crowd, the spelled ropes surrounding the gauntlet ensure that any magick used within it is contained.”
The presenter began listing various groups who’d been chosen to participate—fey courts, lycan packs, demon lairs. And, as Cain predicted, her own fucking coven.
Wynter glanced at Cain, whose eyes glittered with eagerness. He really did love to watch her fight. It got his blood pumping every time.
She grunted, stood, and gestured for her coven to follow her. They left the VIP area and headed down to the performance space. There, the presenter directed them where to stand. It was only when all the chosen groups were gathered in the space that he then declared who would tackle the gauntlet first.
And, of course, he announced, “The Bloodrose Coven.”
Oh, novel.
They crossed to the presenter, who gestured at the rack of blades he’d conjured. “Any weapons you would like to use?”
“Not necessary.”
Wynter called to her sword, just as Xavier and Anabel each called to their own.
Delilah took on her monstrous feline form and flexed her iron claws. Thanks to her bespelled cosmetics, she still wore pink lip gloss and peach nail polish.
Hattie shifted into a crow and quickly settled on Xavier’s shoulder. She didn’t only choose to battle as an avian because she’d then be faster and have better reflexes, she did it because her crow form negated magick—any blasts bounded right off her.
Wynter turned to Xavier. “You know, reanimating corpses is going to be a useless endeavor here. The zombies are already revived corpses.”
His lips parted. “Shit, never thought of that.”
After a moment, he shrugged off his disappointment. “They won’t stand a chance against my sword.”
No, they wouldn’t, since the rapier weapon was actually made of angel bone.
Wynter turned to Anabel. “You ready for this?”
Adjusting her grip on her broadsword, the blonde gave a serious nod. “Absolutely. Now call her.”
Wynter quietly sang into her ear, “Mary, Mary, please come out.”
The blonde did a very slow blink and then, well, her eyes remained their usual pale blue shade, but they were different. Held a flickering flame of madness that often made Wynter wonder if Anabel truly was the reincarnation of Bloody Mary after all.
“Stab to kill,”
Wynter told her.
Anabel/Mary smiled, looking as bloodthirsty as always. “There’s no other way to stab.”
Whatever.
“The gauntlet awaits you,”
said the presenter, all dramatic.
Wynter and her coven slid beneath the ropes and jumped down into the ditch. Her blood buzzing with adrenaline, she rolled back her shoulders. There was a slight purr against her feet. Pure power.
Her monster woke in response to the alien power and went very still. Using telepathic images, she made it clear that this was only a game. Recognizing the gauntlet, the entity lost its tension.
“And now we begin!”
shouted the presenter.
The crowd cheered and stomped their feet.
Dozens of softly swaying zombies blinked into view on the opposite end of the ditch. They were hideous. Bloody. Filthy.
And then they charged. Charged. Like superfast ninjas.
Wynter swiped out with her sword, beheading the first zombie that came at her. And the next. And the next. God, these things reeked. Like dried blood and rancid meat.
Xavier struck with his own sword, hacking through one zombie after another. Anabel/Mary did the same, singing and humming and laughing to herself.
Delilah hissed and roared as she took down the undead creatures. Hattie provided backup, raking and biting and flapping her wings at faces.
Even as Wynter thrust and sliced, she also whipped and blasted the creatures with her magick. The burns didn’t bother them, nor did the decaying of their body parts. But the force of the blasts knocked them down or held them back—as did the magickal attacks from Xavier and Anabel/Mary, making it easier for the entire coven to battle their way through the zombies.
Wynter bit out a curse as one sank its teeth into her arm. “Son of a bitch.”
She punched it in the face once, twice. It released her arm, staggering backwards. She impaled the fucker on her sword and, ignoring the throbbing in her arm, fought on.
Not unscathed, though.
Nails dragged at her flesh. Teeth stabbed into her arms, hands, and—worse—the shoulder of her sword arm. The wounds burned in an unnatural way, and her skin began to sweat profusely . . . as if she was suffering the effects of an actual injury from a zombie.
Judging by the pained growls and curses, she wasn’t the only one injured. Still, the entire coven kept moving, kept fighting, kept killing.
Heads and body parts thumped to the floor. Blood spattered the coven and ground. All the while, the crowd loudly urged them on, almost drowning out the sounds of battle. Almost. The fight was loud. Blades whistled through the air. The creatures groaned and snarled. The huge feline roared while the crow squawked. Anabel/Mary sang fucking “Cotton Eye Joe”.
Nearing the finish line, Wynter felt another spike of adrenaline surge through her bloodstream. At this point, her hand was so sweaty she was surprised she hadn’t dropped her sword. Tremors ran through her limbs, and her temperature had hit the roof. She ignored it all, pinning her focus on that finish line.
She slit throats, chopped off heads, gutted stomachs, sliced off body parts. Just the same, her coven fought harder and faster—either responding to her urgency or spurred on by the knowledge that they were almost done.
Soon, only five zombies were left. Wynter and Xavier took out four, only managing to knock the fifth to the ground since it dodged out of range.
“And then there was one,”
sang Anabel/Mary. She swung out her sword, beheading it in one smooth, brutal move.
Cheers went up as the crowd surged to their feet.
Anabel/Mary’s shoulders slumped as she eyed the fallen zombies. “It’s not the same when your victims don’t cry out in pain.”
Xavier wiped at his sweaty forehead with his arm. “I can agree with that.”
“We need to get out of this ditch so we heal,”
said Wynter, panting.
Nodding, Anabel/Mary grabbed a severed head by its hair.
“No, that ain’t coming with us,”
Wynter declared.
Anabel/Mary frowned. “But it is harmless.”
“And bodiless. And gross. And no, it stays.”
But the weirdo tried arguing, so Xavier rolled his eyes and whispered, “Night, night, Mary.”
The key phrase made Anabel/Mary pout, but then the manic glint in her eyes was gone.
Back to her normal self, Anabel realized what she was holding and dropped it with a little squeal. Wiping her hand on her thigh, she whimpered. “Are we done?”
“We’re done.”
Wynter led the way as they left the ditch. Instantly, her injuries healed, the blood disappeared from her skin and clothes, and the effects of the zombie bites faded away.
Switching back to her human form, Hattie grinned. “Well, now we know we’d survive a zombie apocalypse.”
Delilah frowned. “Yeah, we’d survive it infected. Every one of us got bitten.”
“But we faced the army and lived—none of us got kicked out of the gauntlet,”
said Hattie.
“We were fast,”
said Xavier, sending his sword back to the cottage much in the same way that he conjured it. “There’s a good chance our time won’t be beat.”
Returning her sword to her chamber, Wynter nodded. Either way, she was a winner. Because going by the banked heat in Cain’s eyes, he was as hot and bothered as Delilah predicted. A ruthless fuck was the best kind of prize.
And a ruthless fuck was what she later got. Twice.