Chapter 54 #2
JingYi’s spine arched over the iron edge until only his grip kept her from the pit below. Her fingers found his sleeve and held. Her vision tilted. Below—nothing but stone and the promise of a crash-landing waiting for her.
“You want to save them?” Tedric snarled in her ear, breath hot and ragged. “You brought the boy? Who is he?”
Her throat convulsed. The edge of the rapier dug into her ribs.
“You’re not a killer,” he whispered, “but I am. And you’ve made me very tired of waiting for you to come to your senses.”
From the corner of her eye, JingYi saw Adelise grab a rusted torch bracket from the wall. With a sound between fury and fear, she struck hard across Tedric’s shoulder. Then again, and again.
He cursed, staggered, but didn’t let go.
Instead, he turned and drove a kick into Adelise’s stomach. She hit the wall headfirst and crumpled.
“No,” JingYi rasped, but the word barely made it past her constricted throat. Her eyes darted to where Adelise lay motionless. A silent scream built in her chest. Not her. Please, not her, too.
Tedric twisted her around and forced her onto her knees, facing the gallery railing. She struggled, hands holding onto the jagged edge of a stone post. He released her only to grab the roots of her hair and pull.
“You had your chance to save everyone,” he said gently. “And you failed.”
He slammed her head into the post. The world exploded in white. Ears rang. Pain fractured across her skull in shards. Her body buckled, knees skidding on the floor. The blood in her mouth tasted warm and coppery.
The cell doors rattled. The Omegas behind bars yelling—at Tedric, at her, in multiple languages.
And she . . . laughed.
A broken, guttural sound—half-wheezing, half-hysteria—spilled from her bloodied mouth. She cackled until her ribs ached, until her wounded skull pulsed, until the tip of Tedric’s blade jabbed her side in warning.
Above her, he froze. For the first time, he looked unsure of her. She looked up at him from below, blood on her lips, defiance in her eyes.
“You think this will break me?” she said, ignoring the way blood dripped from nose to chin, from her temple down her cheek. “You have no idea what I’ve endured.”
Her body trembled, but her voice only sharpened. “I’ve been slapped, starved, whipped, branded. I’ve had my worth measured by what I couldn’t give, what I couldn’t be.”
Her lungs burned, and still, she smiled. Teeth bared. “There’s nothing you can do to me that hasn’t already been done before. You are not special. You’re just the latest in a long line of men who thought they could beat me into submission.”
Tedric’s face twisted with something ugly.
Revulsion. Contempt. A predator robbed of his prize.
His blade clattered to the floor. Both hands grabbed her throat.
JingYi’s breath vanished in an instant. This was no longer a strategy.
It was rage—cold, unhinged, personal. She saw it in his eyes: she’d humiliated him.
Refused him. Defied him when she should’ve cowered and obeyed.
And now, he’d make her pay the only way a man like him knew how.
Her fingers clawed at his wrists, nails tearing at skin.
Pressure swelled behind her eyes, her face burning as blood had nowhere to go.
She reached up, raking at his jaw, his ear.
Her lungs screamed. The world hazed, his face above her blurring as her vision tunneled.
Sounds thinned—the rattle of metal, the cries of the Omegas growing distant, heard through water.
Her hands weakened. Each grab more useless than the last. Her head felt swollen, light and heavy at once.
A roar. Somewhere distant—or close—she couldn’t tell. The stone shook. Tedric’s hands faltered.
Heavy boots pounded. Fast.
Tedric was ripped from her. There was cold air where his grip had been. She pitched forward. Gasped. Choked. Coughed as her lungs scrambled for breath.
A pair of hands, gentle hands, caught her before she sagged.
“JingYi.”
He spoke her name like a prayer wrenched from the chest. The warmth of him surrounded her, the scent of spruce and steel.
“I’m here,” he murmured, his lips against her bloodied temple. “I’ve got you now.”
The whole world was edged in red. But she could feel him, really feel him, his heart pounding where he held her close, his breath against her cheek.
“Everything hurts,” she croaked.
“I know,” Alexander said. “I know.”
She felt herself being lifted—strong arms gathering her up with impossible care. Instinctively, she curled against his chest, her fingers brushing the armour, warm from his body heat, her breath catching in the hollow of his throat.
His steps were sure, swift. She didn’t know how he moved so steadily with her weight and blood smeared between them, but she trusted it, trusted him.
He knelt and eased her against the cold stone until her back met the wall. Voices whirled around her. She heard Alexander speak, low and urgent, to Adelise. Heard her breathless reply. Then Alexander again, calling for Darion. Footsteps answered, quick and certain.
And then his hand returned. A palm on her cheek—rough, warm, trembling slightly as it cupped her face. His lips pressed against her forehead. Just a moment. Then, he pulled away.
He rose. She blinked up through the blood in her lashes, watching him. His shoulders squared, hand gripping his battle axe.
He turned toward Tedric.