Chapter 4
FOUR
Adapt to the cold or die.
CELINE
I’m not sure if this monster skipped multiple steps in the evolutionary process or if my lack of scientific know-how is rearing its ugly head once again. I’ve never seen anything like it.
That’s a problem for later, because my gut is telling me exactly who’s driving this beast, and he’s going down. Powered by rage and desperation, I collide with the masked, soon to be dead man and knock him off the giant alligator’s back.
My stomach somersaults as we hurtle toward the ground.
It’s a long fall, and I intend to make the most of it. Because only one of us has wings. I shoot mine out wide and slice through his mottled cape. Tufts of fur from the hood get yanked away by the gusting wind.
I lash out again.
He grabs the tip of one of my wings, grunting when it slices through his hand. Then his body morphs into an angel’s. I sneer when I see that he got his wings wrong. They’re too small to carry his weight and about as useful for flying as my blades.
Copycat wings or not, his bones will shatter when we hit the ground. If any make it through intact, I’ll take care of them manually.
Planting my feet against his gut, I brace to kick him away so that I can glide the rest of the way down. He locks his hand around my ankle and squeezes. “Shall we both die then, darling?”
I grit my teeth.
With two sets of deficient wings, we’re not falling fast, but we’re certainly not flying.
It’s a jerky tumble instead of a freefall.
I drive my other foot into his jaw.
The bone cracks—I hear it—but he doesn’t let go.
I kick him again.
The bastard latches on to my other ankle.
This cold has robbed me of my speed. I’m lumbering and predictable.
The ground is coming up fast, but I can take the hit. Probably. I have to hope he can’t. It’s the only option I have left. Focusing everything I have, I beg my wings to retract.
For once, they listen to me, and our speed picks up. Latched on to me, his wings can’t support our combined weight. We’re going to crash, and we’re going to crash hard.
“Bold,” he grunts, adjusting his wings as he tries and fails to find a good angle to slow our descent. “Incredibly bold. I’ll see you in the arena, darling.”
I frown.
He flips us and puts his back to the ground.
Then we hit, and everything goes dark.
I come to in layers.
The first thing I notice is the heat.
I haven’t been this warm since we left Vegas and stepped into the sabotaged gateway.
The next thing I notice is the pain.
I’m used to hurting, so I push it aside and brace to sit. Except I can’t. I’m strapped down, three heavy chains bracketing my waist, thighs, and ankles. It’s enough to fully wake me up.
I open my eyes, and fury overrides my fear.
The veydra stands to one side, his face—if he even has one—angled toward the wall. Wherever we are, we’re alone, and that pisses me off. “Where are they?” I hiss.
He turns to me with a smile. Banded lines flicker across his face. One second, I see the amber, mask-like material that coats his skin, and the next I see Luca.
“Do you mean the basilisk?” he asks.
I try to recoil, but I’m strapped down. There’s nowhere for me to go.
More bands roll over his features, then he’s Alistair.
“Perhaps you like the vampire best,” he says, shaking his head before warping into Malach. “Or is the overgrown fiancé your favorite?” His hair turns white-blond next, and he snaps his fingers as familiar lips curl into a cruel, unfamiliar smirk.
“No, I know—you’re asking about the nightmare demon, aren’t you? I’ve got to admit; his appearance was unexpected. One of Earth’s enclave heirs doing an angel’s dirty work? You constantly surprise me, darling.”
I try to summon my wings, but nothing happens. They won’t come out. I can’t even sense them. I push harder, searching inside myself frantically.
A chill rolls through me.
I can’t access my magic at all. Even the itch that warns me when something bad is going to happen is gone. I never thought I’d miss it, but now—strapped to some table while my face-stealing captor gloats in the firelight—I’d kill to have it back. Kill him.
“Where are they?” I repeat, refusing to consider the possibility that they might already be dead. This veydra works for my father. He’s almost certainly the one who warped the gateway to bring us here. This was all a trap, and I fell for it.
“They’re fine. For now.”
He turns away. By the time he pivots to hover over me again, his face has been replaced by the same disturbing mask I saw before we hit the ground. Amber-toned, resin-smooth, and fleshy, it clings to him like a second skin—thin and translucent, as if something ancient is trapped inside it.
“Let them go,” I demand. “You’ve got me; you don’t need them.” A sliver of panic worms past my resolve. I don’t want to be alone. Magicless. Defenseless. I need them with me—but I need them to be safe more.
Is the veydra even telling the truth? I can’t use my magic to test him, and I saw Malach fall. Heard Luca’s basilisk scream. Ciprian and Alistair were half-frozen. If they’ve been hurt because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.
My captor studies me silently, peeling back more layers of my bravado the longer he stares. I’m screaming on the inside, and I think he can tell.
“You’ll be reunited with them soon,” he says softly. “Maybe. It depends on how far you’re willing to go to get them back.”
My stomach churns.
“I’m not a whore.” I sneer at him, doing my best to communicate complete disgust with my expression alone. “And I don’t fuck faceless monsters.”
His mask flickers—lines of static rippling through the smooth surface. Is there even a real person beneath it? It belongs in a museum: the preserved shell of an extinct creature, suspended forever in amber. Unliving. Unchanging. Waiting.
Amber burns. The thought slips in, and I cling to it desperately, using it to fuel my rage. Amber lights up like a candle when you set it on fire—fuel that burns slow and sweet. When I confront my father, I’ll turn everything he values to ash. And I know just the accelerant I’ll use.
“It’s a good thing I wasn’t offering,” the veydra murmurs. “You’ll be fighting in the arena, darling. If you perform as I know you can, you’ll be offered perks. Better accommodations, better food, even a face to fuck, if you’re in the mood.”
I hear him, but he’s not making any sense. My father wants me dead. Why bring me to the monster realm and force me to fight in an arena? Either the veydra has his own agenda or he’s lying to me right now.
“Why haven’t you killed me?” I demand, taking note of my surroundings for the first time.
We’re in a circular room made of rough-hewn wood. The floor—what I can see of it, at least—appears to be made of something similar to slate. It’s flat enough to be a decent choice for flooring, but rough enough to make the cabin seem carved from the realm itself.
The veydra is illuminated by the crackling fire, that strange, camouflaged cape draped over his shoulders. He stares at me. I stare back, refusing to flinch under the weight of his scrutiny. If I die, I die, but I’m sick and tired of being wrong.
“You’re brave,” he says, almost as an aside. “Most can’t bear to look at me.”
I scoff. “Get over yourself. I faced a scarier monster than you every day of my life for twenty years.” I bite my lip, cursing myself for revealing something personal.
He hums, and his gaze never leaves my face.
“Killing is easy, don’t you think?” The question comes out of the blue, but I decide to roll with it.
This faceless assassin is my only link to answers.
He may speak in riddles and answer my questions with questions of his own, but I need to keep him talking. What other choice do I have?
“Depends,” I say.
“On what?” There’s a thread of tension in his voice. He sounds almost as desperate for my answers as I am for his.
I raise my eyebrows and blink, breaking our unnerving staring contest in the process. “On the kill. Taking a life can be too easy; it’s better when it’s hard.”
“Why?”
“If killing were always easy, there would be no value in living.”
“And if killing is always easy?” He scratches his chin, making the lines wobble. It’s a deliberately casual gesture. A visual lie to hide his absolute focus on me and this conversation.
“It isn’t,” I say. “Not for me, and not for you either.”
I’m guessing, giving him my best bluff. With my magic nullified, it’s the best I can do. But I know I’m right, and when the veydra clenches his fist, I feel a surge of victory. I’ve rattled him. Struck a nerve . . . if he even has those.
“Be ready to fight and kill by dawn. I don’t care if you find it hard or easy, but remember this: your life—and theirs—depends on it.”
He strides away without giving me a chance to respond, his tattered hood bouncing against his shoulders. The white fur is patchy and streaked with blood, and I smile in satisfaction at the slight hitch in his stride. I left a mark.
The door slams behind him. A bolt slides into place. Then something hums, first at the door, and then around my restraints. A heartbeat later, they unlock.
I throw them off and surge to my feet. Blood rushes to my head from the sudden movement, and black spots dot my vision as I pound my fists against the door.
It doesn’t budge. Not when I drive my shoulder into it.
Not when I kick it. And certainly not when I scream at the spackled logs of the ceiling in fury.
I slide to the floor and wrap my arms around my knees.
Screaming won’t get me out of this; I need to think. The veydra was limping. That makes sense. We beat the shit out of each other and fell hard. I flex my muscles and take careful stock of my arms and legs. I’m hurting, but not as much as I should be after that fall.
Did he heal me? The thought is unsettling.
Pushing off the floor, I lay down on the narrow bed and stare at the flames. Luca, Alistair, Ciprian, and Malach—I’m going to get them out. If that means I have to kill every monster on this cursed rock, so be it.
This is a battle I’m unwilling to lose.